


The Shelved Works of Varric Tethras

by amarmeme



Series: Lady Heroes [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Deserves the tag, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff, It's Literature. Smutty... Literature, Making Love, Pining, Romance, Secrets, Smut, Unrequited Love, Varric's diary basically, Woman on Top, Yes you heard that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/pseuds/amarmeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric Tethras’ literary cast-offs, abandoned for various reasons. Until a certain determined Seeker discovers the lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seeker, Seeker, Always Eager

Untitled, written on a stained, curling paper in a hurried hand

 

_He was hard at the mere sound of her commanding voice. The shadows concealed her form, but he knew the shape of her. Solid yet curved planes, smooth lips, sharp teeth, poison tongue. On their own each of these features would have left a strong man weakened, but all together they destroyed any hope of resistance. He was in trouble from the start._

* * *

 

Cassandra dropped the shocking piece of paper, unsure whether to be offended, pleased or just ashamed that she assumed the woman so lasciviously described was modeled after her. The author of the striking words was without a doubt, Varric. She recognized his thick, confident penmanship, albeit more shaken than usual.  And of course she was sitting in his room.

The Seeker hadn’t meant to snoop. She’d originally gone to confront Varric about another Swords & Shields book, already having finished the copy he’d given her thanks to the “help” of the Inquisitor. Cassandra had been a touch annoyed with them both at first. It gave that irritating dwarf one more thing to mercilessly tease her about. And oh, what an opposing image, the no-nonsense warrior sighing over romantic tales like a little girl. He’d enjoyed it far too much. But then she’d read the story, got carried away in the life of a woman she could only imagine herself being, caught up in love and duty and not having to divide oneself for the advent of one over the other. It was the very definition of romantic -- an idealized world she would never have. Though there was nothing to do for her own tale, she could have more of the story. The man who knew the next part was within her reach and now he was well aware of her ardor for his words. She could appeal to his profound vanity. Maybe the Inquisitor had done her a favor after all. 

When she’d stormed up to his room in the inner courtyard, the dwarf was not to be found. His door was ajar though. Against her better judgement, she searched for a manuscript in plain sight. Opening drawers or peeking under the bed was beneath her. Or, it should have been. He did ridicule her for sport, so perhaps a closer look was what she was deserved. After carefully sifting through the piles of papers on his desk, mostly letters she would not dare to read for it was an utter abuse of privacy even he was due, Cassandra checked the trunk next to his bed. 

Amazingly, it was not locked. There were a few items inside for which she could only guess their meaning -- a bottle of red wine, an ostentatious ring, coins from all over the world, a dried flower chain pressed in the pages of a book as if it marked a loved passage. Guilt crept from the pit of her stomach and was spreading through the rest of her. This was revealing, even if she did not know exactly how.  Before closing the chest of mysterious items, gilded letters caught her eye. Entranced, she pulled out a fine leather folder. It was dark blue with gold pressed letters, VOT, inscribed with a flourish underneath. She looked to the still open door. She was not without sense, shutting it would have dampened the sound of any approaching footsteps, but now she yearned to see what was inside in true privacy. She knew what it contained without even glancing. Groaning in disgust at her own weakness, she opened it.

Now having read the first item, she was conflicted. These were abandoned drafts, an assortment of papers of different styles and types laid carefully inside fine wrapping. It had been hidden inside a trunk full of meaning, and perhaps these word had as much weight as everything else he kept out of sight. It wasn’t the next Swords & Shields, so surely she should put it back straightaway and never let him know what she’d seen.

Before she could place it back under the treasures, footsteps sounded off the stone walkway. The strides seemed short, footfalls quicker than of someone her stature. With her pulse beating wildly, she closed the lid of the trunk and slipped the folder in the waistband at her back. She walked closer to the door, so it would appear as if she’d been just inside it, and tugged her jacket over the item. 

Sure enough, a short blond man appeared in the doorway. His face transformed from a thoughtful expression to one of shock, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. It was quickly masked though to something she was quite accustomed to: annoyance. 

“Seeker.” He put an arm up on the frame of the door, as if to prevent her escape.

“Varric.” Her brain scrambled for an excuse. She couldn’t say the real reason, it would clue him in to the fact that she’d been looking for his work. “Hello.” 

As she stood rigid and dour-faced, he began to relax. “Right, we’re already past the awkward first meeting. Remember? A dark room, vicious threats against my manhood, chairs thrown at my head. Though you keep doing that.” Cassandra willed a blush to not spread to her cheeks, thinking of the scrap of paper at her back. “What I expected for you to say was a reason for you being here.” 

“I have a report to write.” She wanted to roll her eyes at the awful sounding lie. 

“And you needed some help _embellishing_ what happened?” 

She scoffed in disgust, as she usually would. “I have ran out of ink.”

Varric laughed. “And you thought to look in my room? Why not check with Ruffles?” He had her at that. Cassandra threw her hands up and was about to speak when he continued. “I think you just wanted to know if I had started on a sequel to Swords & Shields.” 

She sputtered, and the blush that was confined to her chest spilled over her face. “I would not presume to bother even you with such a thing, Varric.”

He stepped through the door, walking past her to the desk and began rummaging in a drawer where she’d seen a few bottles of the liquid before. He grabbed one then held it out to her as if it was a test. She took the other end, but he didn’t immediately relinquish it. “Don’t say I never did anything for you, Seeker.” He let the ink go. 

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Thank you, Varric.”  With the one unnecessary item and the stolen one, she marched out of the room.

“Anytime,” he snarked back. 

Her steps across the courtyard were hurried, and she expected him to burst out at any moment calling her a thief. By the time she reached her room above the Smith’s workshop, she knew she’d gotten away with it. Her heart was still pounding, a rush of blood in her ears. Now she only had to figure how to put the Maker-forsaken thing back without him knowing.  
  



	2. The Tracker of Thieves

Titled _Tracker of Thieves ,_  
Flattened, but still wrinkled as if it had been crumpled at one point

 

_The base of the man’s skull was exposed from the blow, the jagged edge of the blade ripping skin off with the strike. Cecilia stood over the decapitated head and kicked it with a boot. The cut wasn’t as clean as she wanted, but nothing was ever right when you had a borrowed sword. She grunted a bit in disgust, wishing someone was there to clean up the mess at her feet. She’d been sent on a fool’s errand without a crew. After tonight they’d pray to Andraste to take it all back. She wasn’t a woman to be messed with. Not after they’d killed her mother._

_Cecilia had played it off coolly, as if she hadn’t already puzzled out who’d given the order. She’d been waiting for weeks for an opportunity to put them to task. Now the group was just toying with her. She picked up the body by the feet and dragged it to the river. It left a trail of red in its wake, marking her path. She’d have to get rid of the blood somehow. For now, she looked for something heavy to weigh the headless prick down._

_She was alone in the middle of the forest. If her hate hadn’t been so blinding she could have simply disappeared at this point. No one was as good as a tracker as she was. Without a doubt they’d try to search for her, but an excellent tracker could_ ~~_cover their tracks_ ~~ _practically walk on air for all the signs they left behind them. Over by a curve in the river she spotted a large boulder. She was strong and tall, and gloriously built, and the rock stood no match for her determination. She jogged over and then squatted to heave it out of the mud. It resisted at first, but she gritted her teeth and dug deeper. It came loose with a great sucking sound, and she staggered a little at the rush of weight._  

 _Now armed with a large object, she worked on attaching it to the body. A rope was pulled out of her pack, and she began winding it around the literal dead weight of the man’s torso and fixing the boulder to his chest. Once it was wound tight, she tested by pulling on the rope a few times, Cecilia was met with another challenge. She could haul the man, she could pick up the rock, but both? The combination was hard to pull into the river. Maybe if she wetted down the grass it would assist in the slide. As she turned her back to the dead body, a voice called out from the ridge above._  

 _“Need some help there, Tracker?”_  

 _She spun around, though she knew the voice well. It was the man she’d last been paid to find. Though it seemed he’d gotten free of wherever they’d kept him for questioning. “How did you find me here?” She growled the words._  

 _“You’re predictable. I know you better than you’d like to think, Tracker.”_  

 _She hated being called Tracker. As if she didn’t have a name._ A name her mother gave her, _she thought bitterly. “What do you want?” She picked up her sword and began walking up the slope. He didn’t raise his weapon, but still kept his finger on the crossbow’s trigger. “Are you here to repay me?” She wiped a muddy hand on her pant leg. “You committed the crime, not me. I just did my job to find you.”_  

 _“No, that’s not it. You’d already be dead if that was the case.” He put the large crossbow in its holster on his back. He raised his hands as she reached the top of the ridge. “I heard about what they did -- to your mother.”_  

 _She flinched. That was really the last reason she expected. She schooled her expression to hardness. “I don’t need to be reminded.” She paused a few feet from him, her borrowed blade in her grip, close enough to strike out with a simple reach. This strike would be cleaner if necessary._  

 _“I want to help you take them down.” A smile crept across his face and she ignored how handsome it made him._  

 _“I am to believe you are here to help me avenge my mother. By the goodness of your own soul? Do you take me for a fool?” She scowled, but his smile did not waver. Only intensified._  

_“Are you forgetting how we met? I want to take them down as bad as you. And I’ve seen you with a blade.” He looked to the headless body, then the nearby head. “I could use a partner. And I think you could too.” She slackened her stance and drew closer to him. He was holding out a hand to shake._

_“I don’t think I could trust you,” she said._

_“I don’t think you need to trust me yet, but you will. I’ve got nothing against you personally. A job’s a job.” He shrugged. “What do you say?”_  

 _Cecilia contemplated for a moment. The Association of Thieves was a large organization. It would be useful to have a partner. Even if she couldn’t believe the words he spoke. She was no idiot though, and could take care of herself. Just don’t give him enough distance to line up a shot. “You help me get that body in the river and we will discuss.” She ignored his hand and walked back down to the water._  

_He breathed out a sigh. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to stop the Association, that he was sure of. But he also knew there was nothing that could keep him from her side now. Breaking out had been the easy part. His foolish heart had lead him here. Convincing her to love him back would be the hardest challenge of Marris Hethric’s life._

* * *

 

Varric scrutinized his desk. It didn’t serve to underestimate the Seeker. He had a copy of Tales of the Champion with a dagger in it to prove it. His piles of letters were still in order. Mostly business correspondences back to Kirkwall, though there were a few personal notes. Hawke had asked him to act as her scribe in her departure to Weisshaupt, though without any work on her part. The Champion wasn’t good at communicating with a quill and paper, her thoughts were better conveyed with a sword.

Just because he couldn’t see where the Seeker had been didn’t mean she was innocent. It hardly mattered. Varric didn’t keep anything worth finding out in the open. All the really personal shit was locked away in his trunk. The Seeker was determined, but no one could pick that lock. Dagna had made sure of it for him. 

He sat back against his chair and imagined what would happen if she found what was in that trunk. She’d do more than just throw a chair at him this time. She’d have his balls for it. He sighed and propped up his feet. That wasn’t the reaction he would write. If this was a story, The Seeker would be angry at first (you couldn’t deny her true character even in writing), but after thinking about it she’d come around. Cassandra would realize what had been in her face from the start, pure chemistry. Unbridled passion. You couldn’t make up a spark like thiers. 

 _You’re the worst kind of an ass, Varric Tethras._ He shook the image of her naked and writhing on his bed from his mind. Why he continued to torture himself was a mystery. Hawke knew about his fascination, he couldn’t keep anything from her, and she had told him to stop hiding how he felt in unfinished stories. Though how else was he supposed to get it out of his system? He had to purge it often, or the feelings would build up and he’d break. It was hard to see her damn near every day and keep up the appearance of not liking her. Especially after he found out how much she loved his work. And not the good stuff, Swords & Shields. The woman ate up his sack of shit romance series like it was made of those fancy Orlesian cakes. If anything, that gave him a glimmer of hope. Which was not what he needed. 

He needed to kick the addiction once and for all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the world go round! I'd love to hear what you think about the premise -- or what stories you think Varric would write. :D


	3. Things We Tell Ourselves By The Fire

Untitled, written in small, sloping print, smelling faintly of campfire

 

 _Her eyes are like daggers, sharper than her sword.  Her spirit is as dark as the night. No one dares speak to the woman; closed lips will remain that way until the light. He sits across from her, the crackling fire the symbol of everything between them. Heat, anger and a destiny for ashes. Oh, how he wants to take the tome from her hands, to smooth callused fingers with reassuring strokes. There’s no breaking her concentration though. She’s as wound as he has ever seen her, an iron kettle about to blow its top._  

 _If there is any doubt to what her future holds now, neither one of them carries it. She knows and he knows there are many tireless days ahead. Giving up is not an option. He loves that about her. Loves everything, but damn if she isn’t a hero in the middle of a dying battle. He wants to be her strength, her second wind to turn the tide. But if he offered she would scoff and spit. And Andraste help him, he even loves her for that too._  

* * *

 

It was only natural to be curious. Cassandra was already destined for the Void for stealing clearly private writing from its creator. The large folder of stories had been deposited on the table where reports were painstakingly composed, the bottle of ink next to it a token of lies. She had paced until she was sure the boards were wearing thin. At one point a candle was lit, the woman still walking across the room in misery after the sun dipped below the line of the mountains. 

Recklessness finally won over caution. The first paper had been about her, had to be. Didn’t she deserve to know what else was being said? He’d already commented on his state of... arousal, which was entirely unnerving. It could not be true, the man barely spoke two words in her direction unless they were laced with some sort of jest. Was he joking now? When he wrote the words down in such a stirred hand? What else was he saying behind her back? Doubt prevailed -- it had to be in mockery. 

Cassandra intended only to read the next page. But it had been too good. She wanted to know more about the Tracker, her quest. And Marris had admitted he loved Cecilia so soon in the story. It felt similar to Sword & Shields and so the next loose piece of parchment was picked up in the hope it covered more about the destined lovers. 

It did not. Or, at least wasn’t immediately connected to the story. The prose was different, the characters were not named, the tense was entirely changed. It could have been about Marris and Cecilia, but something nagged at Cassandra. She sat back in her chair, paper still in hand. A cold Skyhold breeze rolled in through an open window, threatening to extinguish the candle. She burst forward to latch it shut, then once closed placed her back against it, leaning on the wall. From the new position she saw the bed and next to it the book that usually occupied each of her evenings since its attainment: the Seeker Order’s tome.

Her stomach sank. She hurried to examine the last draft again. 

 _“Oh, how he wants to take the tome from her hands, to smooth callused fingers with reassuring strokes.”_  

The words played over and over. After Caer Oswin -- Varric had been there. She tried to remember all the details of that night, but really had been too absorbed in the book at the time. Had he been writing this down, using the same dancing flames that illuminated the secrets of The Seekers of Truth to confess how he _loved her?_

It was too much. A hand was raised to her forehead, the paper still in its grasp. The crisp, fragile thing smelled faintly of campfire. She suddenly needed the table for support, bracing against it through waves of utter confusion. She was as lost as the day of the Conclave. Just as confused. Perhaps just as angry. If this was all for amusement, an elaborate ruse crafted just to provoke a reaction, The Seeker was not pleased. She would have his manhood for this. Would shove a finely honed sword right through his hairy chest. She scoffed in disgust, already picking up the proof and ready to command complete honesty for once in his unscrupulous life.

With the papers put right in order and the folder closed shut, she paused. It was the cover that made her hesitate. It was so elaborate, so unlike the Varric she thought she knew, gold stamped letters underscored by a swooping, twisting gold flourish. What did the “O” stand for? Where was this crafted? How long ago? She never would have guessed the dwarf to have a preference for fancy gold touches, what else did he prefer? Was it her? 

“Andraste preserve me.” A shaking hand was placed over the initials and the candle blown out. 

The Inquisitor decided they were to head out that very next day for the Western Approach. She would often do this, suddenly decide that they needed to head out to a location just visited to finish off a certain task or another. Cassandra had faith in the Inquisitor, but on days like this she wanted to shake her and see if anything loose came out. And it was not like the Seeker could argue with any real weight, the Commander would have normally backed her opinion in matters like this, but he was now completely beguiled by their leader.

Cassandra sighed at the thought of the pair. It was a romance for the ages, the Inquisitor and her Commander. Something ripe for Varric’s tales. 

She stiffened at the thought. After having the immediate inclination to be confrontational, she rationalized that a more moderate approach would be best for the sake of the Inquisition. It required the avoidance of the dwarf for the rest of the day, and a distraction to slip the folder back into the trunk before departing. The spontaneous trip would be good for her after all if it meant a month’s worth of distance between them.

Confident in her plan, Cassandra headed to the hall to eat a hearty meal. If they were to travel that afternoon, she would need it. Food on the road was never as satisfying. She climbed the steps with a certain self assurance that had not appeared since the discovery of the drafts. It was short lived. All the doubts returned as soon as she stepped through the great archway.

"He writes words that aren't real, but they are for him, in a quiet place whose stone shape shakes the ground. Would it be hollow without them?”* 

Cole appeared beside Varric at the fireplace in a flash that should have had her reaching for a sword. Everyone was used to the young man’s oddities by now. He was becoming less a spirit every day, but still had a tendency to show up at the most inopportune of times. Cassandra shot him a cutting glance. 

“She seeks softer answers now. Questions so tender it would bruise at the asking. Would he like it without the bite?”

Varric cleared his throat as Cassandra froze mid-stride. “Kid, remember what we talked about?” She refused to make eye contact, but was still struck dumb. How could he pluck out thoughts she didn’t even realize she was thinking?

“I’m sorry,” said Cole. “It’s hard not to when you know it will help.”

Cassandra turned to him. “Don’t worry, Cole. I know you did not mean harm.” The last few steps to the dining tables were rushed, and Varric wasn’t spared a glance. 

The kitchen had prepared steak and eggs, and warm loaves of thick bread were cut and slathered in butter. It was the least the staff could do to help the Inquisitor and her companions in their departure. Cassandra ate slowly, savoring the last good meal for weeks, already dreading the sand that would find its way into every crevice. The Inquisitor sidled up on the bench and began to inhale her food. Cassandra raised an eyebrow at the display. It was most unlike the rogue to eat in such a way.

“Cassie,” Evelyn said between bites. “I was thinking of bringing Varric along this time. He hasn’t been quite himself since Hawke left and maybe this will do him some good.”

“Are you asking me?” The Seeker was on high alarm, her shoulders tense, the silverware griped tight.

The Inquisitor smiled, then shoveled in more eggs. “Should I be?” She asked with a mouthful. A disgusted noise was the only response. “I’ll let him know the Inquisition needs Bianca.”

The plate of food was no longer appetizing. A sick feeling of dread sank deep into Cassandra’s stomach. It would be a long month. Sandy food  was the least of her problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't Cole helpful? And the Inquisitor? Are we having fun yet?
> 
> *The first part of this comment comes from actual Cole dialogue. I added the last bit. It's fascinating to read Cole's dialogue in hindsight. He was giving such good spoilers if you paid attention.


	4. The Traitor's Mark

The upper right corner reads _237_ ,  
edge of the paper jagged as if ripped from its source

 

 _Telride looked up at the sound, squinting to see through the blood in his eyes. It was pointless. The room was pitch dark; the light Tallo casted had faded hours ago. Telride worried about what it meant for the mage._  

_“Tallo,” he whispered, voice raw from all the screaming. “Buddy, are you still with me?”_

_The following silence was punctuated by the noise outside the room._  

 _It was probably footsteps -- either Lucian Boyd or one of the Carta coming to finish the kill. Part of him was fine with that. If Tallo was dead then the foolhardy mission had already failed. The steps, for indeed they were footfalls slapping the dirt, stopped outside the door.  Despite his previous assertion, Telride braced himself for the rush of bodies come to twist his neck. Instead, the unmistakable sound of a jiggling door handle rung out with as much relief as the dinner bell to a starving man. Whoever was calling did so without an invitation from his captors._  

 _Hope was blossoming like a rose on a grave. It sure seemed beautiful, but running underneath was still bitter defeat. Even if he was rescued people were going to die. Telride shifted and tried to free his bound hands for the thousandth time. The rope continued to not cooperate. Outside the door, a little_ whoop _of satisfaction was made._

At least they’re having a good time, _he thought._  

 _The thick door swung open with a creak. Despite his clouded vision, he made out the light of a lamp, flickering flame not solid energy. It wasn’t a mage. The clang of the metal lamp hitting the blood-soaked stones of the floor made him sick. He winced as if a phantom hand reached for his neck. He’d already told himself that this was not someone out to kill him, but the last few days had left their mark. If not his death, then what did the stranger want? If it was the amulet, they’d just missed it._  

 _Telride’s bound hands were jerked up behind him, the mysterious guest starting to saw the rope. The grip on his forearm was firm, definitely not forgiving.  After a momentary battle, the binding was cut and hands flew apart. Not before the blade nicked flesh._  

_“Fuck,” he swore. His arms felt odd, as if detached from the rest of him. He brought his hands in front and clasped the wrist that got cut._

_“And that’s all you got to say? No thanks, or praise the Maker?” The graveled voice was shocking. A river of ice ran down Telride’s back. “Teach me to be the hero. Thankless job, that.”_

_“Bishop?” His throat wouldn’t allow more than a whisper to pass._

_“Yeah, Rider, it’s me. Thought I was finally due to make an appearance.”_

_A large hand was placed on Telride’s shoulder. Even if he hadn’t asked, even if Bishop hadn’t spoke, the weight of his brother’s hand there would have been all he needed to know him. The body remembers touch just as well as the mind a smell or a song. And Bishop had clapped Telride enough in pride to leave a permanent mark no treachery could erase._

 

* * *

 

The journey to the Western Approach was not as awful as Cassandra anticipated. The last time they’d made the trip was to reach Adamant Fortress. While the steps were the same, everyone’s mood was much improved. Truthfully, progress across Orlais was almost easy once reaching the Imperial Highway. As long as you didn’t think too hard about history.

A few scouts travelled ahead of the main party and dispatched a fair amount of brigands and other creatures with confident efficiency. It was all routine at this point. The Inquisitor’s party, made up of Cassandra, Dorian and Varric, took on any rifts, Evelyn’s mark sizzling and flaring in the heavy heat. A few soldiers joined them, due to switch duty with their compatriots at Griffon Wing Keep. As hearty and committed as Cullen’s soldiers were, no person could handle a prolonged stint the fortress. The sandstorms and constant flux of Venatori and wicked predators made it quite miserable. Except somehow Knight-Captain Rylen had managed it from the start. Cassandra made a mental note to inquire with the Captain on his well being once she could draw him out alone. If he was suffering any ill effects, he’d not share it in front of his men. She sensed they shared a few similarities in that.   

They were less than a half day’s ride from the Keep, but a particularly indulgent Evelyn wanted to stop at a camp they’d established the very first time they’d come west. A quiet stream ran nearby, a welcome relief after a week without an opportunity to bathe. When the Inquisitor wanted to move, she did so quickly. Cassandra admired that about the woman. No one lingered about with Evelyn around. It was almost as if they’d just been in Skyhold, and with a snap of her long fingers Evelyn whisked them away to wherever she fancied. This luxury stop was not wholly like her.

“I’m going to go for a dip,” said Evelyn, already drawing her leather armor off. “If anyone dares take my underthings this time let it be known I’ve already planned your punishment. It involves Elfroot.” They all groaned. Evelyn’s penchant for herb gathering grew on obsessive. The Seeker could have sworn she’d seen the rogue pick the plant during the middle of a fight and shove it in her pocket before dispatching a demon’s head.

Evelyn darted behind a large plant to take the last few pieces of clothing off. A moment later a sharp squawk filled the air. Dorian raised an eyebrow and peeked behind the scraggly bush, then doubled over with laughter at whatever he’d seen.

“How can it be so cold?! We’re in a desert.” Evelyn said with a whimper.

Dorian wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and began to disrobe as well. Cassandra turned, not needing to see any more. “And I’m the pampered one. Truly Evelyn, it's worth any discomfo--”An undignified shriek was followed by “ _Kaffas!”_

Varric chuckled and Cassandra turned to the sound without meaning to. She’d been withdrawn from the dwarf, answering his attempts to poke and take her measure with more groans of disgust. It had been a more peaceful trip, but in all honesty not as stimulating. It was the first time they’d been alone since that afternoon when Cassandra stole his private property. At least the folder was back in Skyhold, no longer plaguing her conscious every time she entered her room. Even though the words she’d read so far were still lodged in her mind, something she kept worrying at like a scab. She shifted, uncertain if something needed to be said or if she could just leave. Quickly.

“You know you’ll have to take the metal off before you get in the water, Seeker. Unless you mean to get rusted shut.” Varric had ditched his sash and was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing even more chest hair. She couldn’t look away -- she’d never enjoyed a manly swath of hair before. Most dwarves had beards, but Varric clearly re-directed that growth elsewhere. And it wasn’t entirely displeasing. She swallowed thickly at what she’d just admitted to herself.

For lack of a better plan, she forwent the use of words. It’d worked so far. “Ughh.”

“You alright, Seeker? You didn’t lose your tongue somewhere did you? Though I think I would of noticed that.”

"She’s been an absolute barbarian since we left Skyhold. By the amount of grunting alone I keep looking over my shoulder expecting to see The Iron Bull trailing behind us with a club.” Dorian said from the water. 

“Yeah?” Evelyn asked, a smirk in her voice. “And you would be well versed in what it sounds like to have Bull grunting behind you.” Her laughing turned into pleas as the mage no doubt paid her back for the joke with frigid spring water.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “I’m headed back to my tent. Enjoy your-- playtime.” 

“We will!” Evelyn chirped between gasps.

In the privacy of her sweltering tent, Cassandra took off her armor. She was glad of it, sick of sitting in sweat for the last few days. But there was no possible way she was dipping even a toe into that water. Just the thought of them all down there, cooling off and ridding themselves of the sticky layer of grime and sand made her a touch envious. She didn’t share Evelyn’s blatant disregard for modesty. Though if it had been just the two of them, or three counting Dorian... Cassandra shook her head. She was not getting naked near that dwarf any time soon given what she’d discovered in the last week.

Annoyed at her own swirling thoughts about chest hair and The Iron Bull’s grunts of all things, Cassandra searched for a sharpening stone in her pack. A little sword maintenance always helped her reign in her focus in times of distress. It was calming, the repetitive motions, the rhythmic swish of the stone running against the edge of a blade. Digging deep into her pack, her hands rested on something smooth and familiar. Running her fingertips across the find, she sucked in a breath.

Somehow the Varric’s drafts had found their way into her bag.  

“Cole.” She swore. “Why must you mettle?!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof, I admit "travel" chapters are hard for me to write, but I love party banter, so there's that! And there's something going on with Evelyn that I'm working on in another draft where things overlap. So in case you were wondering why Cassie's been noticing some odd things. 
> 
> Also, I may have made myself very sad with this draft. I mean, I know the whole plot of that book, and poor Varric. Just wishes things turned out different between him and Bartrand. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated!!


	5. Not Your Particular Brand of Anger

 

"THAT’S NOT HOW IT HAPPENED, VARRIC" is scribbled across the page in red

 

 _\--Hawke,_  
  
_What do you think for the book? Once in a lifetime opportunity -- see it before it goes to print._  
_  
_ VT

 

_The trap is set, all the Champion has to do is give a little shout and her devastatingly handsome partner will pump the enemy with bolts. She’s the picture of intimidating: crouched by the doorway, sword in hand and warpaint across the bridge of her nose. To cross her means death or worse. There are terrible, unspeakable things Hawke could do to you if she puts her mind to it. For now she’s a mind on her task. Hawke rolls her shoulders and bounces slightly on her feet. The moment is thick with tension. This is cold, hard war and there’s no room for mercy among friends._

_“It’s come down to either you or me, Varric.” Her wicked smile is all teeth and even dragons tremble in her wake. “And I’ll be honest, you don’t stand a chance.”_  

 _“Do your worst, Champion.” The dwarf flexes his trigger finger and strokes the stunning weapon in his hands. Bianca’s been with him for years and is the only woman that will never let him down._  

 _~~Then Choir Boy trips the wire inadvertently, staring dumbfounded at Hawke’s chest. The bland excuse for a prince even bleeds white just to keep his sanctimonious set of armor obnoxiously bright in the middle of a city of perpetual darkness.~~  W_ _ith the wire tripped, forty stuffed nugs fly across the courtyard at once. The Champion hurls herself forward like a lioness, growling at her prey. She cuts a swath through the nugs that are coming downward from their arc. Fluff flies through the air and lands on her shoulders like snow. It appears she’s winning based on all the stuffing; he can tell by the cry she makes that victory is already rooted firmly in her mind. However, her rugged companion has the upper hand, able to sink bolts into nugs before she can reach them. By the time the last nug hits the dirt, a bolt clear through its face, she starts calculating._

 _~~“You nug-humping bastard,” she says. “You won.”~~ _ _I WON AND YOU KNOW IT!_

* * *

 

Varric couldn't decide whether he was more or less miserable than before. Not talking to the Seeker had its benefits -- no need to coin insults as if he didn’t worship every part of her impossibly long body -- but then the downside of that was he wasn't talking to the Seeker. Shit, he knew the answer. It was definitely worse than before they’d left Skyhold. Probably as bad as when Hawke showed up. At the time, he couldn’t stop cursing himself for getting stuck between two beautiful, powerful women without a claim to either. But at least then he knew _why_ the Seeker was mad (though he did warn her about the extravagant lying --for some reason no one seemed to believe him when he did that). Whatever was bothering the Seeker now wasn’t something he could pry out of her. He’d purposely acted as if nothing had changed, as if they were still going at each other’s throats because of mutual dislike. In truth, Past Varric had effectively blocked Future Varric from having a chance. If he asked her a personal question she’d find a way to rebuff him. Or treat him to the suspicious edge of her sword.

Well, he definitely deserved it.

Blades kept them at the Keep for a few hours, doing her Inquisitorial duties and checking on morale. The Seeker paced back and forth on top of the battlements as if she was working out a problem by wearing down stone, and Dorian went off on a doomed mission to inquire with the keep’s merchants about scented soap. Varric was content to sit and watch the Seeker wear down the wall under the pretense of cleaning Bianca. It wasn’t much of ruse -- a pile of sand was building up by his feet as he handled his weapon, the coarse grains spilling out of every nook and cranny.

He’d cleaned Bianca enough that he didn’t even have to pay attention to the task, his hands operating without oversight from his brain. It was fortunate. A herd of horny Varghests couldn’t pull his attention from the Seeker across the battlements. She was fighting something, the usually soft lines at the corner of her eyes creased in concentration and her mouth set firm. Typical of her to struggle against a problem alone for as long as possible before acquiring help. As if all the world’s problems were her’s and her’s alone to solve.

Varric tried to think of any crime he could have committed against her to make her more obstinate than usual. He’d teased her about Swords & Shields right before they’d left, but said it knowing she’d have been strangely pleased. And it gave him a pleasurable warmth too, the thought of her wanting something of his so badly that she’d snuck into his room for it. With a burst of that feeling now, he imagined what it might be like if she was begging for something else of his.

 _Knock it off,_ he chided himself.

What else had he done? There was the night he’d robbed her blind at Wicked Grace a few weeks ago. That had set her off, though her wrath was more indignant anger than righteous. Varric shook his head. He knew too damn much about her moods. What did it mean if he could label which flavor of anger the woman was feeling at any given moment? He was simply too old for this shit. Over forty this year, and still running around Thedas after her like a blighted love-stuck idiot. His knees ached every night as he laid on a too-hard pallet. His back shouted in protest whenever he had to jump clear of an edge of a blade or a bolt of magic. Andraste’s tits though, how her infrequent smiles made it worth every single pain.

The Seeker stopped pacing at the edge of the wall, staring out at the deep chasm in the ground. There was tension in her body and her hands gripped the stone as if to shatter it between her fingers. He didn’t doubt she could. Her head dipped and then the stiffness simply fell off of her like a discarded cloak. He imagined the impossible -- her giving up or giving in. The idea made his gut clench and his skin felt taut. Bianca sat in his lap, as clean as she was going to get without taking her fully apart.

He wasn’t young anymore so why was he acting like a kid? Teasing the pretty girl, afraid to approach her in earnest in case she rejected him. The decent thing to do was be a friend, and not in the half-assed way he was currently going about it. If it really was love he felt for the Seeker, then he should stop keeping her at arm’s length for the sake of self preservation. Ancestors, what was even worth preserving? How things were now? He couldn’t even lie to himself that their current dance around each other didn’t make him miserable.

He sighed, then shifted Bianca to his back. It could hardly get worse. 

If she heard him approach, there was no sign of it. Her head was bowed over her clasped hands. Mostly likely praying for some sort of guidance. He was starting to rethink, maybe it was better to leave her at it.

“Varric,” she said. “I can feel you standing there.” She dropped her hands and turned around. If there had been grief across her face, it had been quickly swept away by a fairly blank look.

“Was I talking out loud again? ” He arched an eyebrow and shifted uneasily. “Hawke says I narrate without realizing.”

A slight grin tweaked across her lips, but she held it in check. “Your strides are shorter than a human’s, but your footfalls are heavier than that of an elf. You sound like a dwarf.” She narrowed her eyes. “And only one dwarf has been making a study of me this last half hour. Have you finally thought of something clever to cut me with?”

Ah, that hurt. She really knew how to give as good as he did. Varric had to bite back the thousand remarks that rested at the tip of his tongue. It would be easier to take the bait. “Are you alright, Seeker? I’ve seen you angry. I understand your brand of angry, but this isn’t it. Ever since we left Skyhold you seem a bit off?”

Cassandra blinked dumbly for a moment, then righted herself, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“You need not concern yourself with how I--”

“Look, if I did anything I didn’t mean to--”

They both had spoke at once, stumbling over each other’s words. There was a moment that lasted far longer than was comfortable where she pieced out what he’d said. Apologizing for something he didn’t even know he did. Her eyes widened and the hard line of her mouth became soft. There was confusion in her gaze, which Varric didn’t know how to interpret. In a much more forgiving voice, she spoke again.

“There’s nothing for it, Varric.” She shook her head. “I don’t-- I -- thank you for asking.” 

The Seeker effectively ended the conversation, walking past Varric without even a glare and down to the lower levels of the keep.

That was it then. Judging by her unusually softened reaction, Varric had done something to throw the Seeker far off. And Andraste’s dimpled buttcheeks, he didn’t have a clue what.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy with work that it took awhile to get back to these dorks. I wish I could say things get brighter, but they won't necessarily... Sorry, Varric. It can get worse. Also, Andraste's dimpled buttchecks is my favorite Varric-ism. :D 
> 
> Thank you for all the encouraging comments so far!! They give me so much energy and I really appreciate it so much.


	6. Watching You Fall

Untitled, folded and ink smeared in places

 

 _I don’t know what’s happening anymore. The world’s gone completely ass over ale cask. First it was mages hating templars and templars hating mages. Easy enough. But then there’s a hole in the sky and Blades seals it with magic. Weeks later she’s plummeting to the ground and another hole opens up and fucking swallows her whole. Just gone -- poof -- as if everything since the Seeker dragged me out of bed and slammed a dagger through my book wasn’t even real. Maybe I’ve gone crazy and this is all a story I’m telling myself while I rock in a dark corner of at the Hanged Man._  

_Scratch that. This shit’s crazier than anything even I could think up._

_Now Blades is gone, along with Hawke. Which, of course she’d fall into the fade. Somehow it’d be harder to believe Blades had opened a portal into the fade if Hawke was sitting next to me with that cocky grin. Trouble finds that woman like a wastrel to drink and it just isn’t the end of the world without her. I gotta believe she’ll be okay. Everything she’s seen so far, the fade’s nothing._

_Maker’s blighted nutsack._ _It hasn't even been a full day and everyone left over’s getting sick of waiting around. It’s always worse being the one left behind. Cullen’s pacing is wearing pretty thin on even the most unshakable --  the Iron Lady and Tiny are sending searing glances as he strides by for the thousandth time, boots clanking on stone. And Buttercup keeps trying to get us to leave, but we don't stand a chance without Blades. It’s all, “Demons, shit. Crap. The fade. Shit.” As if anyone needs a reminder of what's happened. If only Chuckles was here to give us some clarity about what's going on,  but he's probably happier now inside the damn fade than he's ever been in his entire life._  

 _I have to admit, it's been pretty weird without the Seeker here breathing down my neck. I keep expecting her to turn the corner, frown in place and lip snarled before I've even started talking. Ready to blame everything on me for not bringing Hawke into this mess sooner. I can hear it now.“Only the Maker knows how many Wardens could have been saved had Hawke been here from the beginning, Varric.”_  

 _I don't want to fight with her anymore, but what choice do I have? She'd strike me down if she knew what I'd been thinking about_ ~~_since Haven_~~ _. Ah, dwarf you can't even be honest with yourself. It started much before that._  

 _What if she never comes back? What if the last real conversation we had together was over Hawke? Yeah, I’d do anything for her, but I don’t want her on my epitaph:_ Hawke’s Foolishly Loyal Friend #1. _Even a writer needs the last words to be about him. I thought the full realization of my lies sliding across the Seeker's face was the most painful sight I’d ever see, but watching her and Hawke plummet was like_ ~~_getting punched in the gut_~~ _having your bleeding heart torn from your chest and kicked into the gutter with the rest of the trash. ~~I~~_ ~~ _f she died thinking I hated her_~~ _If she never knew how much she_ _~~meant~~ _ _means_ _to me because I didn't know how to say it... Wouldn't that be just fucking perfect?  The famed writer at a loss for words when it comes to something real._  

_Andraste’s flaming ass. It would be the type of ending I'd write._

 

* * *

 

The Inquisitor had sent Cassandra a hot bath. It was originally meant for Evelyn, but the woman was still conferring with Knight-Captain Rylen about improving living conditions at the Keep. It was hardly paradise out at the edge of civilization, and Cassandra agreed it a worthy pursuit. These men and women were fighting a losing battle against the Western Approach and everything the sands coughed up: Venatori, varghest and even darkspawn.

Once the two attendants filled the large metal tub with buckets of warm water, Cassandra undressed. The room she was afforded was small, but it hardly mattered. She was accustomed to the road and in sharing a tent with one of the Inquisitor's most varied companions. Now the privacy was odd, standing alone in a stone room without even a window out. The winds rustling through the desert were still loud enough to be heard through walls several feet thick though. She was glad to be parted from the whipping sands even if it meant being cramped with only a cot, armor stand, and now the tub, to keep her occupied until Evelyn readied them to depart. It would wait until the morning, whatever their next mission was. 

With armor and clothing removed and an inch of sand coating the floor, Cassandra stepped into the tub and sank down. She hissed through teeth, the warmth of the water close to unpleasant. One of the attendants must have been a mage. How she managed to miss that fact made her leery -- Varric had been, in truth, the only thought occupying her mind since leaving him on top of the wall.

The dwarf had seemed chastised, or perhaps honestly interested in her well-being. A few weeks ago the distinction would have been clear. Or at least, there would have been nothing to signify the latter. Varric had always treated her with such bickering contempt. Was it all a ruse? Did he truly care for her?

She sighed and her gaze drifted to her open pack on the floor. The room was so laughably small that she could reach it easily while barely disturbing the water. Something about the loosening of limbs eased her mind, and without much guilt she pulled the gold embossed folder out of the kit. It hovered above the tub in a hand for a moment until sense returned. No need to risk permanent damage -- it still needed to go back into his chest unharmed. Instead, she placed it gently on the floor. Flipping it open, fingers found drafts she recognized. She turned each piece over to the left side until discovering a new story. There was no title, but a number in the corner marking his page. She started to read.

Not everything was about her. The realization was at first a relief -- there were stories about Hawke, a page from a book surely about his brother, passages not meant for print but saved on bits and scraps like the first she’d read. Each captivated her attention, held her interest in that way his words could and before she knew what had happened, the water was cold. There was a sinking feeling in her chest as she lowered the last brittle draft almost reverently onto its brethren. She’d been moved to tears, and now wiped them from her face, too cautious of ruining the parchment before. On their own, the first few pages about her could have been a lark. A strange way to cope with their peculiar situation. Combined with all the rest it was undeniably a patchwork of him. The truth of Varric Tethras laid bare in a matter of pages. There was honesty in stories if you cared to look.

 

Had she always checked back for him or was it a new habit borne out of her reading? As Cassandra dealt the final blow to the giant’s head, stabbing him right through the eye, she found herself searching for the dwarf. He’d be perched on a ledge -- any type of high ground away from the melee.

“Looking for me, Seeker?” He came up behind her. “You're not very good at fi--- you know what, nevermind.” He turned from her to determine what bolts could be salvaged, placing a boot against the fallen giant’s chest for leverage. A bolt came free from sucking flesh with a great sloppy pop. “Blades already stormed through the doors over there, said there’s a spot for camp.” He pulled out another bolt, this one near the groin, likely shot for sport. She rolled her eyes hard.

“We are to camp here?” They had fought darkspawn only minutes before, and while the tunnel was sealed it still was unsettling.

“Camp’s a strong word. More like catch our breath.” Varric travelled along the length of the creature, pulling out two damaged bolts for every salvageable one. “I’ll meet you in there,” he said, dismissing her.

Cassandra was still holding her weapon dumbly. She sheathed her sword and slung her shield across her back. “Do not make us leave without you, the Inquisitor is eager to move on,” she said lamely. 

“Don’t I know it.”

The rest itself was short lived, Evelyn only waiting a few minutes after Varric joined the three of them. Dorian sighed at a rip in his sleeve, then shook sand out of his hair. “You’re lucky I live for the heat,” he said to Evelyn dryly. The Inquisitor only cleaned her blades and threw a water sack at Varric when he slumped onto one of the sandy steps.

After sliding her blades back home, Evelyn lept up and slapped the dust out of her leathers. “Well, if we hurry this up we can get back before nightfall. And then be on the road tomorrow.” 

“Such a short trip,” Dorian mused. “Almost as if there’s some _one_ you’re rushing back to do in Skyhold.” Evelyn glared and tossed a handful of sand back at him. “ _Fasta vass!_ ” 

“You deserve no less, Dorian.” Cassandra said. She heaved herself up as well, and extended a hand to the sputtering mage. He waved her away, but she grabbed him at the elbow anyways, bringing him to his feet. 

Varric got up too, a wince crossing his face. “I’m too old for this shit,” he said. Regardless of his words he lead them up the final set of steps and through the arched doorway. He looked back at Cassandra as she crossed the threshold. “I’m blaming this bad back on you, Seeker. I was perfectly fine sitting behind my desk in Kirkwall. The only pains I suffered were hand cramps and the occasional paperc---”

The word was stolen from his lips as giant lumbered out from behind a fallen wall and slapped him across the sands. Varric hit a column and collapsed at its base.

“Varric!” Cassandra yelled. She meant to sprint to his side, but was blocked by the giant. Growling, she pulled her sword and shield free and slashed at the hairy tree trunks it called legs. “Dorian!” She called without looking back. “Varric -- see to Varric!”

“I would much rather do just that.” Dorian’s breathing was heavy. “But this varghese says otherwise.”

Cassandra ducked away from a wide swing of the giant’s arms and flanked its back. From the new vantage she could see Dorian was indeed fighting off a varghese, Evelyn quick darting around it with her flying blades trying to get the beast’s attention away from the mage. Cassandra was unsure if she should be annoyed or pleased that they believed she alone could fell a giant. 

Gritting her teeth, she slammed her shield into one of the giant’s legs. He was easy to avoid if you were watching his movements, a fact that burned. Had Varric not been looking at her... _Not now_ , she told herself. She couldn’t look to where he was crumpled, hopefully still breathing.  After another minute of ducking, jumping, leaning out of the giant’s reach, Evelyn blurred past her and jumped in to leap at the giant’s back. She slammed her dual daggers into the creature’s thick hide and sprung off it, landing to her feet. Cassandra had been full of acrobatics once too, leaping onto one dragon to the next in order to save the Divine. Time had worn down the sharp edges of her desire to show off -- to prove herself. There was nothing to prove to those around her, they knew her capable. She slashed and a great spurt of the giant’s blood hit her raised shield. 

Dorian’s added magic helped them take the giant down after what felt like hours of repetition. Hit the legs, avoid its reach, repeat. Electricity crackled over its skin, Dorian throwing bolt after bolt of lighting against it, sweat covering his forehead for the first time in days. Finally the giant fell to its knees, shaking the earth. Evelyn released the full fury of her blades faster than Cassandra could track, and within a matter of moments it was dead. 

Not wasting any time, Cassandra sprinted across the crushed courtyard and slid the last few feet across the sand to Varric. He hadn’t stirred in the time it took to defeat a varghese and a giant. Dropping her weapons, she hovered above his crumpled form, head resting on his chest at an uncomfortable angle. Her hands fluttered above him before she took a deep breath. If she could kill giants and dragons and whatever else the Maker deemed to throw at her, she could do this. She felt for his pulse, and found it weakly beating beneath her fingertips. 

“Blessed Andraste.” She slumped down, the adrenaline in her veins finally wearing away. Her hand still rested on his neck, as if the fluttering would stop without her guiding touch.

“He’s breathing?” Evelyn’s voice was rough. Cassandra looked over to see the rogue covered in blood. 

“Just so.” She searched for Dorian and spotted him on a knee, leaning against his staff. “Dorian,” she called. “What can you do?” 

He spoke without raising his head. “I’m not much use right now.” He tried to stand, but had to take a knee again. “I’m sorry, Cassandra.” He sounded it too. 

In the end, Evelyn ran back to the Keep to get help. Varric was much too heavy for Cassandra to carry unconcious. She and Evelyn had dragged Varric’s still form back down the steps and Dorian had followed wearily, mumbling something in Tevene under his breath. After all the darkspawn and two giants, she had to admit defeat. Rest was needed, but it was impossible for the Seeker to stay still while waiting for Evelyn and the soldiers to return. The next hour was spent pacing the empty room, Dorian finally catching Cassandra by the wrist on one of her circuits and forcing her to sit.

“If he does not wake up,” she said without realizing it nor particularly caring to finish.

“He will,” Dorian said. He rolled his hand in exaggeration. “And it’s said I’m the dramatic one.”

Cassandra scoffed in mock disgust. 

The soldiers and a worried looking Evelyn came in through the doorway above them minutes later. The rogue had finally figured out how to open the gate to the southwest, a much quicker route than back through the dungeon. A stretcher was quickly produced and Varric loaded on it. Cassandra’s heart lurched as one of his arms fell limp from his side over the edge. She picked up Bianca and clutched the crossbow closer than she’d ever admit.

It was a tense trip back to the keep, everyone stealing glances to check if the dwarf’s condition had improved. It had not. The cadre was also forced to stop and fight along the way, defeating roving hyenas and straggling darkspawn, and each time Cassandra’s jaw grew more tight. They made the keep before her teeth could crack, however. No sooner was the group through the great wooden doors than a troop of healers -- magical and traditional alike -- burst forward to collect their patient. Accompanying them was Knight Captain Rylen, who bore the expression of a man reluctant to deliver news. 

“Inquisitor,” he said plainly.  Evelyn glanced at Varric and made a half step to follow after the departing group, which included Cassandra hot at their heels. Rylen’s hand shot out, clutched her arm. “I’ve orders,” he said a bit more impassioned, though for anyone else it would seem quite ordinary. “From the commander. You’re to return to Skyhold at once. It seems the Orlesians can’t last another week without your presence.”   

“The commander said that?” Evelyn raised an eyebrow.

“Course not, much more direct.” He let go of her arm and softened his stance. Evelyn grinned, then caught herself. 

“Can’t we just meet them at Halamshiral? It’s on the way.” She toyed with the hilt of her daggers.

“You know I don’t have the answer. You don’t pay me enough for that kind of sense.”

“Bah,” Evelyn waved at him dismissively. “No one ever asks Marchers for tactical opinions.”

Cassandra had returned unhappily. Somehow the healers managed to shove her out of the infirmary nearby once she began barking orders. A mage had promised to freeze her to the spot if she didn’t leave willingly. “I know you wished to return right away, but we cannot possibly leave now.” She shot an accusatory glance at Evelyn, eyes cutting sharper than the silverite daggers at the rogue's hips. 

“I have to.” Evelyn said firmly. “And I’m sorry Cassie, I need you to come with me. The Inquisition needs--”

“Don’t say it.” Cassandra snapped. 

Evelyn reached out and placed a hand on the Seeker’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay. He was breathing and the healers here are the Inquisition's best on account of all the shit that happens on a daily basis.”

“And that is supposed to be a comfort.”

“I’m sorry. You know I don’t want to either.”

Cassandra sighed, resigned. “Knight Captain Rylen. You will let us know as soon as there is news.”

“Of course. I’ll go ready a few soldiers for your return.” He nodded at them both and stepped away.

Evelyn and Cassandra lingered awkwardly in the door, looking off into the middle distance. Dorian, who’d been strangely quiet during the entire exchange, took both of the women by their elbows and steered them in the direction of their quarters. Cassandra was thankful for the guidance. For the second time in days, she was unable to concentrate on anything besides the dwarf who now was far too quiet for her liking.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a BEAST of a chapter. It's also cruel. And a true story. Or at least the exact same skirmish played out in my first game. Kill one giant and you get rewarded with another, plus a bonus varghese! That was decidedly unpleasant.
> 
> Penny for your thoughts? Or virtual high fives?


	7. Bagging a Dwarf

Titled _Tracker of Thieves,_ scrawling script beneath reads: _Damn this story_

 

 _Cecilia grinned at Marris, the paper in her hands clutched with delight. An expression she hadn't worn since the death of her mother._  

 _“Do you know what this is?” She began pacing the small room they’d shared for weeks. “We have them, Marris.”_  

 _“Why do you think I risked my ass for it, Tracker?”_  

 _She stopped pacing at the sound of his voice. Her shoulders relaxed and with exaggerated smoothness she slid the paper on the table beneath the room’s sole window. Her fingertips remained pressed to the parchment, barely making contact but still absorbing some of the power it gave her. With a quick nod of the head, as if agreeing with herself, Cecilia turned to her partner._  

 _“I do not know how to thank you.” She still touched the proof he’d given her. “I am not often in the position to require help, and now every word I can think to say is not enough.”_  

_Marris’ chest rose with a quick inhale of breath. His eyes were wide, and for the first time since they’d met, unable to form words. Cecilia was couldn’t decipher what it meant. The man was always quick to jest, much to her chagrin, and she thought perhaps it was not done -- thanking one’s associates in schemes of revenge. Embarrassed and feeling more girlish than she had in years, she turned back to look outside the dirty window._

_A minute passed and she thought perhaps he would never respond. She watched people scurry to and from the docks below, carrying packages and parcels. A woman with a small child stood in the rush like a boulder in the middle of a river, people flowing around her solid form. If Cecilia had to bet, this would be a woman worth following once she moved. There was a story there._

_Her study of the docks was interrupted by a tentative hand on her arm. Cecilia whipped around in automatic reflex to the sudden intrusion._

_“If I knew you’d be that jumpy I would've just tried shouting.” Marris stepped back, hands raised in submission. “You weren’t listening.”_

_“What?” She crossed her arms._

_“I said you’re welcome. Thought maybe you’d gone deaf -- or just shy?” He laughed. “That’s not possible though is it?”_

_Cecilia narrowed her eyes. “Do I look it?”_

_“Ah, no.” He gestured to the paper. “You are welcome though. Had to fight twenty men and break out of a prison, but it was worth it.”_

_She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “You are such a liar.”_

_“And this liar just convinced a prison guard to give me that report.”_

_“Is that so?” Cecilia grinned and her posture relaxed. She walked to their scuffed table and began pouring two glasses of wine. She took a sip, wrinkled her nose at the swill, then handed Marris a glass. “Tell me what happened. What_ really _happened, Marris.”_

_“Alright, Tracker.” He grabbed the wine and joined her at the table. “Because you asked nicely.”_

 

* * *

 

The events at the Winter Palace had not ended in complete disaster, but just nearly. Grand Duchess Florianne was dead, and while Cassandra didn’t mind that so much she worried that the Inquisitor would be pulled in countless directions in order solve more political problems. She was proud of the Inquisitor’s work to reconcile the Empress with her elven Ambassador Briala, but not every court squabble was likely to reveal an agent of Corypheus. And on top of all that, their bright red uniforms were itchy.

Cassandra passed a darkened balcony on the way to her rooms, ready to remove the terrible military dress. She spied the Inquisitor out there, alone.

“Evelyn,” she called. The Inquisitor turned, a small smile sliding across her face. “May I join you?”

“You hardly have to ask.” The woman leaned back against the balcony and rested her elbows on the ledge. “Thoughts on the outcome? I really have no idea why you let me resolve matters of state -- I was a pretty lazy noble when it came to it. I never showed up at these things.”

Cassandra laughed. “We have that in common.” 

“At least we didn’t have time to stop and get fitted for a dress,” Evelyn chuckled to herself. “Though these uniforms are--” 

“Itchy!” They both said in unison.

The two women smiled at one another as if they shared a great secret, and then Evelyn rushed Cassandra with a hug. The Seeker returned it, albeit awkwardly, not able to remember the last time she’d embraced someone so. Was it Galyan? The thought made her sad, and she shook it aside.

“Sorry,” Evelyn said as she stepped back from the contact. “You don’t seem much like a hugger, but I had to. You know, I really value your friendship Cassandra.” Evelyn fiddled with the collar of her jacket. She never seemed to know what to do with her hands when there were no daggers around. “And I was getting rather lonely out here, looking out at these terrible gardens.”

“I would have thought to find you with company.” Evelyn raised her eyebrow. After a pause, Cassandra elaborated. “With Cullen? I thought you two were together?”

Evelyn let out a loud sigh and shifted back against the balcony. “That’s--” The rogue shook her head and squinted up at the night sky. “We’re not,” she said quietly. “Never have been, but--” She raised a hand at Cassandra, who had began to protest in disbelief. Evelyn looked at her friend sadly. “We talked about it, somewhat. It would have been too distracting. How can I possibly save the world if I’m running around like a love-sick idiot?”

“Evelyn, I don’t think you--”

“Oh, I would.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m not like you Cassie. I’m not nearly as level headed, and determined. I’d be spending all day in the sack and telling you to fuck off and find another patsy.”

Cassandra scoffed. “I find that unlikely.” 

“Okay, okay. I wouldn’t be _that_ bad.” Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “How do you do it? Keep believing as you do? Keep fighting like you do?” 

“Faith,” Cassandra replied firmly. “I believe in the cause and I see something must be done.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it, other than I know I am capable. Why would I waste the Maker’s gifts?”

“Well when you put it like that,” Evelyn let out a chuckle. “Hey, I got a note.” She reached in her pants to pull it free, then handed it to Cassandra to read. “Our favorite dwarf is back in Skyhold.”

“Already?” Cassandra unfolded the note hastily.

They’d been intercepted not too long after departing the Western Approach, and had to march straight to the Winter Palace, per Josephine’s orders. News of Varric’s “recovery” had arrived just before they did, along with the rest of the Inquisitor’s inner circle. Now it seemed Varric had been well enough to sneak back to Skyhold on his own, avoiding the court altogether.

> _Blades,_
> 
> _It’s been a shit journey -- turns out a concussion feels the same as a hangover, my luck. I’m alive so I can’t complain, though even wine doesn’t seem appealing right now. Skyhold feels strange without you. The servants are looking at me like I’m in charge. Don’t be surprised if things are different when you get back. I’ve been missing the ambiance of the Hanged Man and Dagna’s more than happy to help me redecorate._
> 
>  
> 
> _\--VT_
> 
>  
> 
> _P.S. Thank the Seeker for threatening the healers. Glad she was looking out for me._

 

Cassandra turned the note over, even though she knew that was the entire message. She’d been a little worried of his condition, having known a fellow Seeker who’d suffered a blow to the head like Varric’s once. The man was never quite the same after -- colder, as if the injury had knocked the compassion right out of him. Even though Varric drove her mad, she didn’t want him changed, a lesser version of himself. It was Varric. He was like no one she’d met before.  

She looked up from the paper to Evelyn’s pleased grin. “What?” She barked.

“Are you two going to ever just admit you like each other?”

Cassandra scoffed. “As if you are one to talk. Besides, even if there was _feeling_ besides annoyance between that dwarf and I, this is hardly the time.” Evelyn rolled her eyes and sprung from her position on the wall, taking Cassandra’s elbow and walking back towards the doors. The Seeker was effectively being steered.

“Like I already said, we are not alike. You could have ten suitors, rule them all with the crook of a finger and still manage to run through the whole of Thedas with your sword.”

Cassandra didn’t know where to even start with the wrongness of that. “Where are we going?” 

“The perks of being Inquisitor mean there’s a nice bottle of wine waiting for us in my quarters. And you and I need to talk.” Upon spotting a courtier turning the corner, Evelyn nudged her with a shoulder and they ducked behind a ostentatious potted plant. Once he passed, the pair undetected, they covered their mouths and laughed like children. “You too?” Evelyn asked.

"Behind statues of dragons, but yes.” Cassandra remarked. She thought of hiding from her uncle with Anthony and smiled. It was good to be close to someone again. Evelyn could never take the place of her brother, no one could, but the younger woman was becoming like a sister to her. A younger, troublesome sister, but a sister nonetheless.

“Well, come on slayer, let’s talk about bagging a dwarf.” Evelyn pulled her along towards her room. 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra paled. Definitely a younger sister.

 

* * *

 

Having a concussion was terrible. But staying back at Griffon Keep had been worse. Varric had woken up, alone and confused, and thought he was in some sort of Dwarven afterlife; surrounded by stone and growing a thick beard. As soon as he found out he was indeed alive, and left behind, Varric was ready to set out. The Western Approach was like a Darktown outhouse -- hot, coated in toxic mist and full of assholes. The healers were of a different mind, wanting him to continue resting. Once he heard about what Cassandra had said to them ( _You let him die and it will be the last thing you do!_ ) he threatened calling her back to retrieve him.

The trip to Skyhold had been mostly boring and painful -- every bump jarring his head even further. A few scouts and one pissed off healer came with, and every minute Varric wasn’t riding he was writing the next issue of Swords & Shields.

When he finally arrived, legs stiff and bowed from riding a horse for so long, he couldn’t believe he’d beat the rest of them back. To pass the time, he’d been messing around with Dagna and the Chargers. It was a bit harder to concentrate during Wicked Grace, and wine didn’t yet go down smooth, but the healer assured him it was just his thick head being stubborn. Varric told the man he could leave at any time, but he said he “wasn’t risking the wrath of Cassandra Pentaghast.” Varric had to suppress a grin. He’d survived that wrath after all.

Now the draft of Swords & Shields stared up at him from his desk and Varric reasoned he better put it away. She was coming back anytime now. Seeing as the Seeker had been looking in his room for the next issue a few weeks ago and he had the damn thing mostly written, it had to be perfected before she read it. And he needed a few more days for his head to clear before trying to edit his concussed writing.

Lumbering out of his chair, his back shouting in protest, Varric grabbed the edge of his desk. The giant had broken a few of his ribs and dislocated a shoulder, but the healers had taken care of it before he’d even woken up. This was a lingering pain that no healer could fix.

Varric carefully shuffled over to the trunk next to his bed and slowly dropped to his knees. He set the papers down so he could open the complicated lock. As he started to twist the first mechanism, he realized it was already open. Panic washed over him. The lid flew open, and Varric dug down past all the keepsakes to find the folder he kept his most private drafts in. His fingers found the bottom of the trunk, but no leather folder. Unable to believe it, he started taking the valuables out, one at a time. After a few minutes of frenzied searching, a fully emptied trunk laid before him.

Varric stumbled back against his bed and sat hard on the floor. How had this happened? It seemed beneath the Seeker to break into his trunk, and while the woman was leagues smarter than he was, there was no way she cracked that lock in the few minutes she’d been in his room alone.  

With a sharp pain to his chest, he remembered. The night after she’d thrown a chair at his head. Varric closed his eyes and hit his head against the bed a few times. He’d been piss drunk, Tiny passing him glass after glass of that Qunari shit. It had burned a bit, and Varric was just conscious enough to take up a piece of scrap and write some self-indulgent drivel. Something along the lines of being hard at the sound of the Seeker’s voice. He remembered stumbling all the way back to his room, Tiny helping get him into bed. Sometime in the middle of the night though, Varric, idiot that he was, put the little piece of paper with all the rest, and forgot to lock his trunk. If he wasn’t so pissed at himself for doing it, he’d be a little in awe that he’d managed to unlock it in the first place.

He still couldn’t believe the Seeker would steal from him, but it explained a lot. She’d read at least that first paper, and probably the rest by now. Varric groaned, a cold sweat rushing up over him and a prickling sensation forming at the back of his neck. He felt sick to his stomach, and it was not from the head injury. Besides anything crass he’d written about the Seeker, there was a lot of personal shit in that folder. She’d been so strange the last few weeks, barely exchanging a word, and then they were really only grunts.

What was he supposed to do now? She knew. Fuck, she knew everything -- even a few things he’d managed to keep from Hawke. And why wasn’t she mad? There should have been far more pieces of furniture thrown his way for that one smutty story he’d wrote about being between her legs... Maybe this was her true anger -- freezing him out completely. Varric shuddered, cold sweat running down his back. He couldn’t remember feeling this miserable before.

Cassandra would be back soon. And if he was honest with himself, the idea had filled him joy a few minutes ago. He had been writing a trashy romance serial he hated, just for her. All the while she’d been reading something much more important to him. Suddenly the cold sweat was replaced with something else -- a humiliating type of anger. As if being caught in the middle of jerking the little Maker by your own mother. He wasn’t going to let her slip the folder back, as if nothing had happened. No, she’d given him enough shit about lying to last several blights.

“Well, shit.” Varric said. Knowing what had to come next.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL FINALLY BE THE CHAPTER.
> 
> Uh-oh girl, watch out. Varric Greatly Disapproves.


	8. I Try Not to Lie to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live, I die. I live again. 
> 
> Sorry for taking so long to get this out in the world.

On the back of an illustration of trade routes between Kirkwall and Ferelden

 _Idea for book:_ _Comedy_ _where reluctant dwarf follows a stupidly tall brunette around the world solving murder mysteries. Twist is the brunette commits the crimes and convinces the dwarf and authorities that her enemies were at fault._

_Shit. Maybe that’s not funny._

* * *

The Inquisitor’s return to Skyhold was subdued. Most of the party looked like they’d aged a lifetime in the week spent at the Winter Palace, dragging themselves into the main hall with heavy steps and bleak faces. The notable exception was the Iron Lady and Sparkler. As they passed Varric’s desk by the fire, the two bickered over some sort of court drivel, Sparkler quite animated over some aspect of the proceedings while Vivienne speared him with her haughty glare of incredulity.

A few companions gave Varric a wink or a half-hearted nod as they passed to sit at the long tables before the throne. Soon servants would flood the hall with food and drink to fill the weary, and Varric would find the missing Seeker who'd not stormed in yet. He was unable to picture her entrance in any other way than self assured and righteous. She’d come speak to him and pretend she didn’t already know his innermost thoughts.

The last few hours had been worse than that time waiting for Hawke at the Hanged Man after she'd received death threats from the Carta. Varric couldn’t remember the exact details any more -- Hawke always had threats against her, enough material for another book. In waiting for the Seeker, each minute had crawled just as slowly. Every commotion outside had been their return, and in turn Varric’s chest pounded loudly. He’d expected to fall dead from an overworked heart by the time they’d actually arrived. Now that she was here, somewhere, he was filled with an icy dread. As angry as he had been at the discovery of her underhandedness, the confrontation he’d rehearsed in his mind was still theoretical. Now came the real measure of it. Varric wasn’t sure how it’d go. 

As he stood up to start what would likely be one of the worst evenings of his life, Blades rushed around the table and choked the life out of him with an enthusiastic embrace. She was a giant, taller than the Seeker, and as such her tits were right in his face. While that was one of the few silver linings of being a dwarf, he wasn’t in the mood to be suffocated by her Inquisitorialness. He cleared his throat.

“Sorry!” She laughed and let him go reluctantly. Blades sat on the table, becoming level with Varric. “You were knocked out the last time we were together. How you feeling?” 

“Mostly back to normal, though I’d be insane to go anywhere with you again.” He chuckled to hide his mood. “You’ll have to increase my hazard pay.” 

Blades gave him a leering smile that was all too similar to Hawke’s. “As I recall, you volunteered to join the Inquisition.” She threw up a relaxed hand as if pondering his merits. “Though, you are beyond worth your weight in ink and ale so there’s that. I need you on the team, so consider it done, Mr. Tethras.” She shot her hand forward, expecting a shake. 

“Oh, come here,” Varric said. He grabbed her hand and then gave her a quick one-armed pat on the back. “Thanks for dragging my ass back to the keep.”

“Course -- you’re deceptively heavy you know. Cassandra and I dragged you to shelter first and I thought my arms were going to rip right out of their sockets.” 

Varric flinched a little at the Seeker’s name. He’d already heard about the fuss she’d made over him, and while that at first warmed his idiot heart, he couldn’t make his brain view her as anything but distrustful now. He hoped Blades didn’t catch his reaction, but as a sneaking smile crept up to brighten her eyes he knew she took it the wrong way instead.

“She said there was something she needed to do straight away. If you run now I’m sure you’ll catch her in private.” The Inquisitor hopped off the table and gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Varric, don’t give her too hard of a time.” She winked and spun away, calling out some sort of inside joke to Sera at the nearest table, who was demonstrating something filthy to a howling Blackwall.    

Varric shook his head. _Too hard of a time my ass._  

Had the Seeker told Blades about what she’d done? Must have for such a teasing warning to come out of the Inquisitor’s mouth. It soured the Seeker for him even more. As if she couldn’t keep this shit between them, as if he wasn’t already humiliated enough by the woman he _thought_ _he loved_ sneaking around to his back and shoving her holy righteous sword through a soft kidney. He could feel that blade pass right through him, a sharp cut that parted his insides as effortless as butter. It turned his dread into a searing anger that bubbled under his skin. There was no question about what the Seeker was off to do “straight away.” He rushed to his room, certain he’d find a red-handed Seeker bending over a locked trunk, a desperate look of panic in her eyes. He took satisfaction in picturing what how she’d try and get out of this after all the shit she gave him for lying.

 

* * *

Cassandra waited outside of Varric’s door with the folder in her damp hands. She was nervous, more than she imagined possible. Why was this so difficult? While she always tried to do right, it wasn’t as if she was incapable of making mistakes. This was hardly the first time Cassandra Pentaghast had to make apologies for being misguided, though for some unexplainable reason her heart rioted in her chest and a chilled sweat coated her body. This was not going to go well. She was not an idiot to think Varric would simply forgive her for betraying his secrecy in such a way, but part of her hoped he’d at least hear her out.

Grimly, she recollected when he’d asked her to do the same. She’d thrown a chair at him. It was not the Seeker’s finest moment. Cassandra swallowed thickly and tried to breathe evenly through her nose. It was a pointless trick; she was shaken. Evelyn would have her believe this was a sign of her true feelings for the dwarf.

 _It is just guilt_ , she thought. _It would feel the same for any person I’d wronged in such a way._

Before she could ruminate further on her assured indifference to Varric, the dwarf appeared. She spotted him before he noticed her, his brows knitted in an uncharacteristic frown and shoulders drawn up tightly. He’d burst into the garden with some speed. A wandering servant was almost clipped by the door, but pivoted with the practice of a person used to being unnoticed. Cassandra could hardly believe it was Varric. She staggered a step back against the wall. Had she a weaker will, the folder would have been dropped to the floor while she snuck out of view.  She had acted rashly in taking his private papers though, and now would take the repercussions with as much dignity possible.

The moment he spotted her at last was unnerving. As he took in her still form, Varric’s expression shifted to surprised and open. It was an easy mental leap towards the look a romantic hero granted his lady as she confessed her love in fervent tones. Cassandra was no heroine, and this was no confession of love on her part. Before she could become alarmed, the unguarded reaction was quickly amended to a scowl that did the dwarf no favors.

He reached her in what felt like an instant. He stood before her, arms crossed over his chest and eyes murderous. The air between them was compressed and hot, as if his burning anger was surging out of his pores. Cassandra had thought of countless ways to confess, but Varric always had the first word in those scenarios. It felt like a sudden challenge to speak, or a test of skill she’d not been prepared for.

They stood in silence for a long minute before she scoffed. It was involuntary, really.  “Varric,” she warned. Though she was in the wrong, the way he was reacting was quite irksome. A small, often ignored part of her brain shouted to be even, but he _excelled_ in riling her up. Usually it was through his aggravating words, but silence seemed to accomplish it just as well. “It seems we both know why I am here.”

With a flick of her wrist the folder was before him. After a long, pointed look at the offensive object and back to her, Varric stole it from her grasp. “That’s a shit apology if I’ve ever heard one.” His voice was rough and humorless.

“I--” Cassandra balked. She couldn’t turn the irritation off that quickly.

“And you don’t think there’s any reason to be sorry.” He used the folder as a weapon, poking her in the chest with a corner. “You read all of it, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” This was a fact, easy enough to impart. Maybe if he asked questions she would get back on track. Though she didn't intend to make it appear she was without remorse. As she hastened to speak, he cut through her. 

“And you told Blades?” He took a step forward, the corner digging further into her chest. “Did you laugh at all of it, or just the parts about you?”

Cassandra was taken aback. He thought she laughed at his words? What would make him think her so cavalier? And she would never bring the Inquisitor into an issue like this when the woman had more important concerns to worry about. While Evelyn had tried to convince Cassandra to make a move (in a conversation that produced more scoffs and groans than Cassandra thought she could possibly make), that was an easy, light-hearted conversation between friends. This was a personal matter for just her and Varric to attend to.

“I did not, and would never,” she implored. “This is entirely between you and I, Varric.” He remained unconvinced.

“She asked me to take it easy on you.” His eyebrow raised in a challenge.

Cassandra almost groaned again, but fought back the urge. Evelyn knew Cassandra was meeting Varric, but had thought it for a confession of a different type. “She believed I was going to speak to you, but didn’t know the truth of why. I swear to you.”

“And I should _trust_ your word?” Varric hissed. A crowd of unsubtle onlookers was gathering in the garden, creeping along the potted plants. His back was turned to them, but as Cassandra’s eyes widened he squinted at her perceptively. He brushed past her thunderously, pushing open the door to his room.

Cassandra followed against better judgement. She was so far off her internal script and was unsure how to change the course of their conversation. She couldn’t pull forth any of the skills she employed while interrogating, but maybe it was a small mercy given she was the perpetrator in this scenario. Inside the door, Varric bent over his trunk. He unlocked it and dropped the folder inside without much care for the rest of his treasures. The lid was slammed shut, and the lock fastened once more. Before she could speak again, he turned and commanded her to sit at the chair pushed back from his desk. She followed the line of his glare and found herself sinking into submission. It was an uncomfortable position.

“Varric, let me explain.”

“Don’t think so,” he said. He came to the edge of the desk and placed a rough hand flat on its surface. “You had me fooled, Seeker. I admit. I thought you were pretty honorable for a while there. At least I can take some fucking consolation in knowing that even _you_ aren’t infallible.” He leaned forward on his hand. His tone was bitter and the words were sharp. “You Seekers get off on knowing everything. In the name of ‘the truth.’ That’s how you justify stealing.”  He pointed back towards the trunk with his other hand. “Those words were _mine._ Not for you, not for anyone.”

What she had intended barely mattered. That Cole had put the folder in her kit, tempting her to read the drafts was an excuse. He was owed an apology, and she had not given him one yet.

“Enough,” she barked. Even if she was attempting an apology, she wouldn’t take the dressing down of her living when it had nothing to do with the price of Lyrium. “I am sorry, Varric. I would not want to be treated as I have done to you.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“Be that as it may, the Seekers of Truth do not--”

“Oh, damn the Seekers of Truth. Damn you, Cassandra.” His voice broke on her name and Cassandra’s breathing hitched. Varric looked away suddenly and she wanted to sink into the floor, to melt into the wall. Just disappear from this space, so absolutely consumed with tension.

“You have every right to be angry with me.” She tried to remain cool in light of his passionate outburst. It came out almost tenderly. “I am angry with myself.”

“It’s not just that.” He said softly. Too softly. He was still examining a crack in the wall. “I think I’m disappointed?” He shook his head. “Shit, Seeker. I--, I-- can’t look at you.” He raised his hands to his temples, trying to smooth out warring thoughts with his fingertips. “You need to go.”

It was a bolt to the stomach. At first Cassandra was surprised that those words had any effect on her. But with the sinking sensation she’d just wished for, Cassandra knew she was a fool indeed. It was not a guilty conscious that drove her to his room, that made her face him directly. It was not a sense of honor, nor a duty owed to peace for the cause. She cared. For Varric. It was not like the devoted feelings she had for her brother, nor the easy companionship and watchful concern she had with Cullen. This was not effortless care -- how she felt about Varric was complicated by the fact they pretended to detest one another most of the time. And it was pretend. Yes, he could annoy her, and raise the ire in her like no other before, but it was a game. A silly act they both played and were equally complicit in. And to realize this _now_ , at the very moment Varric was deciding that his good opinion about her had been proven wrong, that was regretful.

“Varric,” she pleaded. Was about to fall to her knees and beg him to not to ask her to go. Yelling and bantering was preferable, as natural as breathing. Leaving now would be more than she could reasonably bear given her revelation. She wanted to confess to him, even if the words weren’t readily accessible. She would tell him, artlessly, that reading those papers helped her better understand herself. She would tell him, with no certain grace, that though it was a mistake it was one she would make again if it meant discovering how she felt for him. Cassandra could have laughed with frustration and disbelief -- Varric Tethras loved her and she actually loved him back.

Varric cleared his throat, and turned his back toward her. Cassandra felt a panic rise in her throat, it captured her voice and sent chills over her spine. If he said go, she would have to do it. That was what he was owed. As her pulse thrummed in her ears, Varric took a deep breath.

“It’s probably best if we separate for a while, Seeker.” He threw in an unconvincing chuckle that she wanted to push back in his throat. This display of humor and indifference was so clearly false it hurt worse than any insult. “I think I’ve been trailing you like a lost puppy for too long.”

Without argument, Cassandra stood up and strode from the room. She walked straight through the hall, not stopping to Evelyn’s call, not looking anywhere but in front of her. Like a corpse from the Fallow Mire, she trudged across the lawn, listless yet determined to reach her destination. Her steps up to her bare apartment were hollow, yet sharp at the same time. Only once reaching her door, and locking it tightly behind her, did Cassandra allow herself to cry. It wasn’t in racking sobs or choking snarls that stole your breath, but a few silent, remorseful tears of one who knows they've been wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooo. How's everyone feeling?
> 
> Title inspired by Circles by Nero, which I listened to a lot writing this.  
>  _I tried not to lie to you_  
>  _Didn't get me that far_  
>  _'Cause everything I tried to do_  
>  _Made me lose who you are_
> 
> _And even if you ever take that step towards us_  
>  _You knew I'd struggle_
> 
> _'Cause we're going nowhere_  
>  _We move in circles_


	9. A Guest in the Night

Chapter 7 of _The Secrets of Sailors_

 

_“It’s complicated. You’d never understand.”_

_Steele slammed down her ale with a heavy hand, froth sloshing over the edge of the gilded tankard. It was a damn waste and the woman frowned at her wet glove, then at Revviin. The captain wasn’t on the receiving end of that look very often. Rarely did he fight with his first mate. They just worked well together. She’d proven her own enough times to merit her own ship, her own crew. Half the time Revviin urged her to go on without him.  She never did, though he was starting to think that was going to change very soon._

_“I’m not an idiot. Though I’m pretty sure you are. How long?” she said. He grumbled so low she couldn’t hear. “Spit it out captain or I’ll show you the fancy edge of my sword.”_

_“I’ve already seen both edges. You don’t have to go to the trouble of taking it out for my sake.”_

_The wooden bench scrapped against the floor and Steele stood up, all six feet of her. Below decks she was almost tall enough to hit the great beams running across the ceiling. Revviin had never been intimidated by her height before,  but he had to admit she cut a striking figure in her smuggler’s gear. Not that he wanted to take the woman on  in any way-- she was his first mate and a scrappy fighter with a much longer reach._

  _"Quit stalling. You look like you're about to puke. Revviin if you get this dirty I’ll kill you -- I’ve got to wear it for the job.” She stepped back from him and stood in the doorway. He considered her as his balls descended from his gut._  

_“Twelve years.”_

_“Fuck me with a polearm! Twelve years, Revviin? Twelve fucking years?!”  It was Steele’s turn to look overripe. She stumbled towards the ale she’d abandoned and grabbed it with relish. She took a drink as if to wash away the wretched taste of her captain’s betrayal. It didn’t work._

_“How in the void am I supposed to go in there tonight knowing you’ve been topping their boss lady? Maker take you, Revviin. What does she know?”_

_Even if he knew the answer to that question, there was no way in telling if it was truth. Deandra had a funny way of convincing him that everything she said was a lie. That way he was oddly pleased and somewhat proud of her when it came out right in the end. It was twisted, but so was their entire relationship._

_“Let’s just assume everything and go from there.”_

_“You’re a real asshole, captain.”_

_“It’s been said before.” He shrugged and took a drink as Steele stalked off._

 

* * *

 

Varric hadn’t laid eyes on the Seeker in 60 days. It wasn't as if he was counting the time or anything. Simply, it was the first of Solace when he’d left, bitter and drunk on indignation, and now the haggard man to his right toasted to the stroke of midnight -- the first of Kingsway.

“Seventy to th’ day and fit as’a fiddle. Said I’s destined for greatness I was. Born on th’ dawn fer the month o’ kings.” He downed the rest of his ale and peered at Varric through swollen, bloodshot eyes.“ Respect yer elders and buy this codger 'nother?” 

The man smelled like a pit of despair. Fit as a fiddle was farther than even Varric would embellish.

“As much as I’d like to, I don’t.” 

Varric flipped a coin onto the bar to cover his tab and shoved away from the counter. He’d spend the rest of his evening in his rented room wondering why he even bothered coming down in the first place. The bar was filled with bearded woodsmen. If you squinted hard enough and everyone was sitting down, it looked like a Carta gathering. Maybe it was just the absence of decent company, but taverns had lost their allure since Kirkwall. 

 _Or maybe you’re just getting soft._  

There hadn’t been a plan after Skyhold. It’d been a hasty departure. Varric would return at some point -- her Inquisitorialness would kick his ass for leaving in the middle of everything and truth be told, he still felt some responsibility for Corypheus and the red lyrium. Shit, just about everything he and Hawke had done back in Kirkwall resulted in disappointment or disaster. Yet returning there now would be too tempting. Once Varric set foot in Kirkwall again, it would be for good. So he resigned to stay close by. 

For a moment he considered visiting Hawke at Weisshaupt. It’d be great fodder for his writing, and hopefully he'd see Sunshine all grown up. But, that would mean talking to Hawke about why he left, and that was not a discussion he wanted to have. Least of all with another bossy woman with a sword for company. 

So Varric went forth with no particular agenda. Somewhere along the road he’d run into Harding, though with great annoyance and a little gratitude he knew it was hardly coincidence. She’d told him of some decent places in the Hinterlands to get lost and trusting her sense, he picked one at random and settled in. A few days later, one of Nightingale’s blighted birds arrived at the tavern. The consolation was if one of the Ferelden barbarians killed him, they’d at least know where to find his body. 

The days had been spent either writing or shooting at trees. It’d been somewhat therapeutic, though every time he closed his eyes there’d be a striking woman standing in front of his door, looking nervous and sad. Damnit, why did the Seeker have to feel sorry? It’d be so much easier if she’d been caught in a lie, but she’d discovered that annoying sense of guilt he was all too familiar with. And the way she’d said his name at the end, like a prayer and a plea, it had turned him inside out. Moments before he’d burned with anger -- how quick it turned into a sick need. He'd wanted to shove her against the chair, grab her chin and kiss her to bruising -- turning that plea into something much more desperate and satisfying. He’d never felt so crazed before, flipping between anger and desire like they were twin edges of a blade. That’s why he had to leave, and fast.

Now as he trudged up creaking steps, Varric admitted his sabbatical had to end. He imagined he felt as Isabela had during all those visits to the Chantry. Varric was eagerly trying to pass the time with the normal pursuits, but knew in the end nothing was going to fall into his lap and make his evening any better.

Reaching the top of the stairs and turning down the hall, he unlocked his room and shoved inside. Even though the air was completely still and stale, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Someone was there. Varric moved as if he was unaware of the disturbance, heading towards the table to light a candle. Bianca was close by though, just a step away against the wall. As he darted off course to grab the weapon, a familiar cocking sounded off in the room.

“You think anyone could miss this giant thing against the wall?” A deceptively sweet and teasing voice kept him frozen in place. “Aren’t you going to light a candle?” 

An unwanted smile crept across his face and Varric thawed out. He did the woman’s bidding and lit a candle quick and carelessly, burning the tips of his fingers on the flame. In the flickering light he could finally see her, sitting on his bed with his crossbow in her grip. It was an alluring image, one he could never quite resist. 

“Hey, Varric.” Her lips curled into the perfect, mischievous pout.

“Hello, Bianca.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have made me feel so giddy about this story!! Thank you for the feedback thus far, and I hate to report that the misery's not quite over. 
> 
> Everyone, say welcome to Bianca. It couldn't be a Varric story without her in it. For good or bad.


	10. Perfectly Graceful

Expert from Chapter 12, _The Secrets of Sailors_

 

_While Revviin looked at them side by side, matching frowns on their faces, he attempted to weigh the consequences of betraying one over the other. A nagging feeling in his gut intensified. It would have been smarter to help Deandra -- get the payout in the end, keep their opportunities open for future entanglements -- but he’d never forgive himself for giving Steele up. Picking the former lover was the path a true rogue would take, but friendships were hard to find on the sea. Lovers could be obtained at every port if you were charming or rich enough. And luckily, Revviin was both._

 

* * *

 

It had been seventy one days since she’d last spoken to Varric. Cassandra had been counting -- hash marks neatly printed inside the cover of Swords & Shields. Every evening after completing reports and correspondences, her fingers cramped from gripping the quill for so long, she’d open the book reverently, easing back the cover as to not break its binding. Using the ink she’d taken from Varric, every stroke that marked the ending of another day was a slash to the heart. The bottle of black liquid was becoming empty -- soon there would be nothing left.

On that seventy-first day, not yet marked in her cherished book, Cassandra dressed with a brisk efficiency that rivaled Cullen’s soldiers in the field. Without a need to observe herself in a mirror (she failed to see the point when one wore the same sort of outfit daily), Cassandra jogged down the stairs while buttoning her tabard and headed towards the hall.

It was an unusually warm Skyhold morning, the troops already lilting under the sun’s harsh rays. The commander kept them yet to their drills, the rhythmic clashing of swords and shields a sudden annoyance to the Seeker. How could everything continue on as if the world had not shifted again? Perhaps the heat was a sign of change. Like the depleting source of ink, everyday trivial occurrences became bad omens once one suffered a serious loss. Already suspicious in nature, Cassandra found herself now searching for signs in the mundane.

The Inquisitor called them to council twice daily now. The woman was impatient to move, a feeling Cassandra could very much sympathize with. There was so much waiting in it, their slog to defeat Corypheus. Finding a next step after Adamant was taxing on everyone, Leliana in particular. Evelyn was insistent that the Inquisition needed to get ahead of whatever forces the abomination called to next. And what was left? After Venatori, Templars and Grey Wardens, what other forces were there for him to corrupt? Cassandra wouldn’t have been surprised if an army of possessed nugs dropped on their doorstep.

A great chatter flowed out of the hall as she approached, one to rival the sword play down below. Bull’s thundering voice broke through the ruckus, clear enough for Cassandra to make sense of.

“Varric, you sly dog!”

If Varric was there, and had replied, his words were drowned out by a few good natured jests and _whoop_ from Sera. Cassandra halted on the landing, halfway between the solid ground and whatever was happening inside. She hesitated, uncertain of her next move. She had to go forward, Evelyn was expecting her, but for all her recent pinning the Seeker was not ready for a reunion in front of others. What if Varric ignored her, scowled or perhaps worst of all, acted as if nothing had changed? She wanted to meet him alone -- in a place where she could manage herself and keep from becoming a spectacle of emotions.

Cassandra’s mouth became unbearably dry, and she though perhaps a drink was necessary. She stepped backwards, unable to turn away from the archway but not willing to enter. She backed up into a solid mass, and a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders to stop her from stumbling over the edge of the stairs.

“I believe you’re going the wrong direction. Unless the Inquisitor has cancelled this morning’s session?”

Cassandra turned to Cullen, who was trying and failing to hide a smirk. She found her footing and relaxed as he crossed his arms and raised an expectant eyebrow.

“No.” She searched for a lie. “I-- forgot something important.”  

“And what was that?” She sputtered dumbly then shoved at his shoulder with with enough force to make him take a step down. The commander chuckled at her discomfort. “Do you need assistance in walking backwards up the steps as well?” 

Ugh,” she groaned. “I preferred you sullen.”

“You’ve only yourself to blame. It was your tactical error in recruiting me out of Kirkwall.”

 _You’re not the only one,_ she thought darkly. Cassandra shook her head, then pulled Cullen back up to where he’d been standing before she knocked him. “Let’s not delay the Inquisitor any further.”

The crowd surrounding Varric -- for it was the dwarf at last -- had quieted substantially. He spoke instead, his animated eyes and wildly gesturing hands indicating it was a happy tale unfurling. Cassandra checked herself, stiffened her spine, and tried to calmly pass. Her heart pounded raggedly in her chest at the sight of him. Varric was slightly tanned, as if he’d spent the last days of summer somewhere far north. Perhaps his pirate friend had taken him for a pillaging along some coast, and knowing what she did of Isabela, Cassandra pictured all sorts of women and booze in his recent past. Her breathing became uneven thinking of Varric cavorting with women while she drudged her days away in Skyhold without him. Being angry at imagined indiscretions was easier than admitting she was nervous for him to see her.   

A woman’s low, smoky voice caught Cassandra’s attention.  “And that’s how I knew he was there -- half the trees were riddled with bolt holes.”

Sera made a crass joke about filling holes, and Bull shook with laughter, his massive bulk shifting enough for Cassandra to catch a glimpse of a dwarf she did not recognize. The woman wore a hood, and stood a hand’s breadth away from Varric. What she could make of the stranger’s expression was guarded and a bit standoffish, as if she judged the crowd around her and found them wanting. Cassandra knew she was likely projecting -- the image of Varric’s sojourn in her mind was quickly shifting to something much quieter and filled with a woman who didn’t even have to pry his secrets out of him. It was clear from how they stood, angled towards one another, that this was not a new friendship.

Cassandra’s own expression could burn a hole through a man’s heart. It was aimed at a woman instead. Finding herself unable to move forward yet again, Cassandra was pushed along by a hand at her back. Cullen tipped his head at Varric when the dwarf finally realized their presence, and Cassandra gave herself whiplash in an effort to avoid any sort of interaction. 

“This should add up to an interesting council meeting at least,” Cullen sighed.

Cassandra could barely think through their meeting in the war room. Morrigan had spoken at great length about mirrors and elves, and Cassandra had to force herself to focus on the witch’s words. They had not discussed Varric and his guest, as Cullen had guessed -- Evelyn hadn’t met the pair yet. The woman had been pouring over books in the library instead -- searching fruitlessly for something, anything to give her a leg up. She’d dismissed them after a grueling two hours of discussion and a few arguments. Everyone was fraying, and while Cassandra felt guilty for not taking a stand in quelling the lousy atmosphere, she was barely holding her own emotions in check. 

She was eager to go back to her room and lick her wounds, but her defeated feeling was puzzling. If Varric had returned alone today, would she have sought him out instead of sneaking away? In the weeks since his departure, she’d pictured their reunion countless times, took inspiration from Swords & Shields even as the guard captain’s meeting with her lover on the docks was one of her favorite passages. Now, despite all the ways she told herself their reunion would go, she was so easily convinced in one outcome. Varric -- who was nothing if not constant in his need to follow around authoritative women -- had found someone else to bother. Was seventy one days enough time to make a man change his mind?

Leliana subtly pulled Cassandra aside as they stepped out into the hall again. Walking her up to the throne and gesturing as if she had some concern there, her colleague broke into a low whisper.

“She’s married, Cassandra.”

“What?” A rare blush spread to Cassandra’s cheeks. “I do not know what you are talking about.” Cassandra refused to glance back to where Leliana was also explicitly not looking. The redhead was studying her instead, eyes full of mirth.

“As one of the few loyal Seekers of Truth remaining, I am not surprised you are out of practice with lying.” Cassandra fought to say something sharp in return, but Leliana quieted her with a gesture. “I know you, Cassandra. Her name is Bianca Davri, and while I am having some trouble uncovering the exact details around how she and Varric are _acquainted_ ,” she said the word delicately, “she’s been married to a Merchant Guildsman for the last ten years.  

“Bianca.” Cassandra let the name roll over her tongue. Of course, it was not an unfamiliar feel. “And women are accused of being overly sentimental.” She and Leliana shared a knowing glance and the Seeker rolled her eyes as Leliana chuckled soundlessly. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Cassandra said. 

“Of course -- I will let you know when I hear more.” 

Cassandra sighed and raised her hand. “I-- no. That is not necessary. I know enough.” She was already piecing together some of the drafts she’d read of Varric’s that suddenly had a great more meaning with this context.

“And here I was feeling sorry for you. Now I’m thinking Varric shouldn’t have returned. For his own safety.” 

“Leliana--” Cassandra warned. The Left Hand smirked into her hood and softly brushed Cassandra’s shoulder as she headed to her tower.

* * *

 

Evelyn was a cruel leader. After Varric and Bianca met with the Inquisitor, the rogue insisted Cassandra attend the three of them to investigate Valammar. Cassandra had drifted towards the back of the party, alongside Dorian, who was dragged with too. If the mage had anything to say about the situation, he kept it to himself. A feat theretofore unheard of.

Cassandra could still keep marking in her copy of Swords & Shields -- Varric hadn’t talked to her yet. It had only been a full day, but Cassandra knew it wouldn’t end with a confession of her feelings. At least not with Bianca -- the real one -- at his side. He was clearly pulled to her, connected in some way she could never understand. She must have been a first love, an undying love by the look of things. He smiled at her in a way that made Cassandra want to hit something. Every time the woman spoke, in that smooth voice, Cassandra wanted to throttle her. When Bianca laughed ridiculously at Varric’s truly terrible joke, Cassandra was close to pushing her off the ledge and into the waterfall. The Seeker found herself wishing for Iron Bull’s company in order to hit him with a stick again. Luckily, there were things in Valammar that needed a good strike as well.

Then the truth of it came out. Cassandra leaned against the wall while Varric and the Inquisitor grilled Bianca over her supposed lead and found out that she'd been directly responsible for Corypheus' supply of red lyrium. The woman’s tone was suddenly sweeter, as if she could edge her way out of trouble by being coy. Neither Evelyn nor Varric were buying it. It was a satisfying scene to watch, and Cassandra smiled to herself as Varric told Bianca to go back to her husband. It didn’t mean he was any more willing to talk to her, but at least the toy had lost its shine. Although she felt wretched over Varric upset, his disappointed shake of the head hitting far too close to their last conversation, she harbored a small amount of hope that they’d be able to speak soon.

“Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs, _Inquisitor_.” 

Evelyn stared at Bianca with disbelief, truly unable to conjure any words. The sheer audacity of the dwarven woman -- threatening the Inquisitor after literally having handed over the key to their enemy. Whether she was just trying to cover how shaken she was with blunt words or truly an idiot, Cassandra didn’t care.

“I must have misheard you.” Cassandra pushed off the wall and stalked over to Bianca. She’d not spoken to her either. She looked down at the woman and rested her hand on her sword. She wouldn’t draw it -- Varric had named his weapon after her and it was a reason she wasn’t willing to bet had changed in the last five minutes -- but knew she gave off a rather intimidating presence. “Did you threaten the Inquisitor?”

The intimidation did not work.

“Look, I don’t even know who you are, but you seem as if you’ve been dying to take a piece out of me since I arrived. It doesn’t take much to figure that has to do with Varric, so you know better than to start with me if you want to keep whatever it is between you intact.” She eyed Cassandra speculatively, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t say I see the appeal. He usually appreciates his women to be a bit more _graceful._ You look like you stumbled out of a men’s wrestling club.”

Cassandra snarled, but before she could act out rashly, Evelyn slipped between them and placed a dagger tip at the dwarf’s chest.

“You may be getting out of here easy, but I will not forget what you’ve done.” Evelyn said. “And if you come near Skyhold again, I’ll feed you that snide tongue of yours, _Bianca_.” She drew up the blade and tapped Bianca underneath the chin with the flat side of it. “I don’t give a shit who you’ve fucked before -- you better wait for a while before you leave this room because my glowy hand can get pretty explosive when I’m worked up. And right now I’m losing my patience.”

Evelyn let the mark flare a little, next to the woman’s face. The sickly green light illuminated Bianca’s features under the hood, and her hands went up in surrender. The Inquisitor twirled her blades and slid them back into their sheaths. She spun to face Cassandra and took her by the shoulder. “And that, Cassie, was a threat.”

Cassandra shouldn’t have been shocked at the display -- she’d seen Evelyn kill countless enemies, but this viciousness was beyond anything she’d witnessed from the Inquisitor before. As they crossed the bridge to catch up with Dorian and Varric, who looked so small in comparison to the massive stone cavern surrounding them, Cassandra pulled up short, causing the other woman to look back.

“Evelyn,” Cassandra wondered. “What you said -- I would understand if the Inquisition is hard on you--” 

“No, no.” She laughed as she waited for Cassandra to catch up again. “I’m not going to slit her throat or blow her into the fade, you know that. I just -- no one insults my friends. And by the way, you’re perfectly graceful. I’ve fought beside you. No one who’s done that could deny that you're full of everything Varric could ever want in a woman. Don't worry.”

“Evelyn!” Cassandra blushed, as the dwarf in question was now perfectly within earshot. Her friend simply winked as Varric eyed Cassandra with surprise. Her stomach twisted in knots under the scrutiny.

“Let’s get out of this hole in the ground!” Evelyn burst forward and raced past Varric and Dorian. “Drinks on me tonight. Varric we've got a lot of catching up to do.”

"It seems we do," Varric agreed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only picture Bianca as a selfish brat. I'm sorry to any Bianca fans, but I'm sure they're not reading this fic anyway. :) And why isn't there an option to tell her to stfu?
> 
> Also, I totally hc that Cass continues to attend the meetings in the war room. Because why wouldn't she?! Essentially this chapter was for Cass and her friends who all ship her and Varric.
> 
> If you noticed, there's been 11 days in between Bianca's arrival and Varric's return to Skyhold. I'm not convinced they actually are adulterers, but I don't know... Their relationship feels so weird to me, especially now that we know she's been married since we met Varric. Speculation anyone? What do you think?


	11. Writing Inspiration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They speak! Much of this comes from party banter, so if it sounds familiar, it should. ;)

Written across the back of a wine label

 

_The night sky over Kirkwall was as turbulent as the dockside. It seemed news of the city’s destruction had not spread to every corner of Thedas, as hopeful, misled refugees flooded onto the docks carrying little more than what was on their backs. Pockets empty of coin, the travelers were headed to the city’s underbelly, even if they didn’t know it yet. Providing a fitting welcome, fat drops of rain burst from the storm cloud that had filled the ship’s sails over the sea. Newly minted Kirkwallers scurried into tucked away corners to avoid the downpour and the city embraced them into her shadows._

_A solitary figure stood on the ship amidst the rain, dark hair slick against her forehead. She watched the crowds disperse with a critical eye. When the dock was finally empty, she stepped down from the prow to confer with the captain and his first mate. Sailors could navigate port cities as well as the open water when in search for the seediest bars. The particular hovel she wanted was called The Hanged Man. There was a dwarf she needed to see about a book._

 

* * *

 

Varric’s writing was never better than when he called The Hanged Man home. The place was a dump, but familiar, and endless material could be found in its dark corners. Skyhold’s tavern by comparison was entirely too clean, crawling with Inquisition soldiers and scouts. The honorable clientele of The Herald’s Rest didn’t exactly match his typical cast of characters. And while there was a resident band of mercenaries currently causing a scene in the back, shouting a filthy cheer and spilling ale on the wood floor, they were no more devious than Daisy picking flowers in the Viscount’s garden. Some people were just heroes at their core, no matter what story the outward appearance painted. Even the leader of the Chargers was turning out to be sentimental, much to Varric’s dismay.

“Look, you have to really spell it out for this one. I’ve met saarebas with more talent for words.”

The Qunari had plopped down next to Varric at the bar to offer unsolicited love advice. The dwarf was taking it pretty well considering the last few days he'd had in that department.

“Less thinking, more actions. Sweep her off her feet -- real chivalrous crap. Then prove how mighty your pen is.”

Varric was tired and without a smart ass quip. After the shit with Bianca, the amount of advice he was willing to take could barely fill an inkwell. Luckily, a new, distinct shout rose above the clamor in the back. Both men turned to the sound, relieving Varric of any response. It was Blades, rushing over to Krem and the rest of the Chargers for hugs. Varric shook his head at the Inquisitor, who an hour before had been pissed enough to tell him what Bianca said about the Seeker. Now she was cheerful, hugging mercenaries as if she’d not just ripped him a new asshole.

What Bianca had said was hardly a surprise -- she was always the jealous type. And if Varric was honest with himself, which wasn’t very often, her jealousy was usually pretty satisfying. Now, coupled with the foolishness that put his favorite smith in league with Corypheus, Varric didn’t find that particular trait endearing.

A moment later, the Seeker entered the tavern. Bianca had poked Cassandra where she knew it would hurt, but it was a pack of lies. Even with a glint of impatience in the Seeker’s eyes, she drew a smooth, long and controlled figure. Despite her tendency to stab first and ask questions later, there was absolutely nothing awkward about her. The Seeker finally looked his way and her stupid little smirk was enough inspiration to pen a hundred romances.

“Seeker,” Tiny boomed. “Join us!”

She didn’t hesitate, sliding effortlessly towards them. Varric’s pulse quickened at the thought of what he could do to make those thighs quiver instead of carrying her so steadily. He could feel the approach, a magnetic pull that passed through skin and bone and shot straight to the heart. His draw to the Seeker hadn’t faded, despite their time apart.

Tactfully, she pulled up to the stool on the other side of Tiny and greeted them both with cool regard. The Qunari slid a tankard towards her folded hands and she reacted quickly, snatching it before it could glide off the bar.

“So, Seeker, how about our Varric here?”

Cassandra inhaled her drink and started coughing. Tiny slapped her on the back and she sputtered like a drowned rat. “I’m just messing with you.” He looked to Varric. “You got this? There’s a mage in the corner who looks like he wants to ride the bull.” 

“I won’t let her die if that’s what you mean.”

“Sure, Varric. I’ll see you.”

Tiny shook his head, cutting a path through the crowd as he headed off to greet Sparkler. The Tevinter man was slouching uncharacteristically, sitting in the mercenary leader’s chair like he owned the place. Rumor was he ruled the Iron Bull, but Varric could see it clearly. The two of them were part of a storied romance. A strange one, but the bestselling serials were always dramatic.

That left two. He and the Seeker drank in silence, the stool an obvious presence between them. Before he could comment on the weather like an idiot, Cassandra spoke.

“Am I to understand your Bianca is married?”

Well fuck small talk. The Seeker always knew how to cut to the quick. Varric felt his hackles rising. His liquor loosened shoulders tightened and his gut clenched at the idea of discussing Bianca with the Seeker.

“Oh, have we reached the state where we gossip about each other’s love lives?”

Her response was just as sharp. “Forget I mentioned anything. It was a simple question, Varric.”

“There was nothing simple about it. You brought up Bianca, Seeker. Does that mean I could ask about your conquests?”

She grumbled into her tankard. “I would rather you didn’t”

 _Of course she would,_ he thought. The Seeker got to know all his secrets, but wasn’t willing to share anything about herself. The heartfelt feelings that moved him a minute ago were joined by annoyance.

“No tantalizing secrets to divulge?”

“None,” she snapped.

Suddenly, as it always was with him, the Kid appeared on the stool between them.

“Shit!” Varric gripped the edge of the bar to keep from falling to the floor. “Kid, you gotta stop doing that.”

“It’s so loud, but the words aren’t coming out right. I thought I could help, but maybe I heard wrong.”

“It’s alright Cole,” Cassandra reassured. “You were not wrong.”

Varric observed the two of them in silence. It was clear something happened that the Kid felt responsible for, but the Seeker wasn't having any of it. She rested a firm hand on one if his pale ones, and whispered something softly. The Kid brightened a little, as much as a spirit turning human could.

“You want to know, but you already did. That's what the letters were for. Finding the truth in what’s not real.”

“Thank you, Cole.” The Seeker smiled softly at him, a sight Varric wouldn’t have bet on six months ago.

“I helped? Even with all the yelling?”

The Seeker laughed. “You had to expect that.”

The Kid wandered away without pulling the disappearing act. Varric saw pleased confusion on the rogue's usually solemn face, as if he was figuring out a tricky puzzle. It seemed Cole had given the Seeker something she shouldn’t of had in the first place. Maybe she had been searching for Swords & Shields. Maybe the Kid had taken his old, abandoned drafts all along.

“So, Seeker. The Kid was pulling a con on me?”

She looked as confused as Cole had, her eyebrows drawing together and mouth forming a little “O.” After piecing together what he meant, she shook her head and turned towards him. Her hand stretched across the scratched and stained counter, a finger idly  tracing some scar in the wood. Varric could have reached out and grabbed it easily.

“No. I took it on my own volition. Cole is not to blame.”

“Oh I'm not blaming him. You still stuck your nose in it.” Varric chuckled.

“I'm sorry, Varric. I--”

Varric stilled her fidgeting hand with his own. He didn’t meant to chastise her yet again. The weeks spent with burly, piss-drunk humans and then Bianca at the end had made him regret how much he’d annoyed her on purpose. If he’d been less of an ass, and said what he felt in the first place they wouldn't have fought. Maybe by now they’d have been together. It was a painful thing to picture, all the wasted time.

“I've heard enough sorrys today, Seeker. I think we deserve a break. Don't you? Start over?”

Cassandra looked startled. And hopeful. He squeezed her hand. Though she always towered over him, he was still surprised by how much smaller her hand actually was in comparison to his thick one.

“Yes, I do. And it is not lost on me.”

“What?”

“I know a great deal about you. Things you likely did not want me to learn. And yet you know nothing about me.” She gave him an uneven smile.

"Well not absolutely nothing. I know you like terrible romance serials. That good dirt has to count for something.” He chuckled. “I’m always willing to listen, Seeker.”

She sighed between her teeth then withdrew her hand. Sitting back with her elbow on the counter, fingers tapping again, the Seeker thought for a moment. She was deciding whether to take the opening. Varric was about to make a stupid joke just to fill the silence. Though everyone else would say he liked hearing his own voice, Varric just really hated long pauses. It was better to make a joke, or tell a story than let shit get awkward.

“If you wish to know about men I have known, I will tell you.”

That was unexpected. As much as he wanted to know, she deserved to tell him at her own pace. Preferably in bed, after Varric proved how spectacular he was in comparison. “Look, Seeker. I was only--”

She threw her hand up to halt him. “You are right. I pried first, and fair is fair. Years ago, I knew a young mage named Regalyan. He was dashing, unlike any men I met. He died at the Conclave.”

“Oh.”

He wasn’t surprised that Cassandra had a lover. She was a stunning woman, and he wasn’t the only man who enjoyed the idea of being bossed around. But to have lost someone so recently... Damn, and all this time he’d been such an ass when she was hurting over both the Divine and this mage. Even though she didn’t show it in front of him, he knew she had her moments of weakness like anybody else.

“What we had was fleeting. And years had passed. Still, it saddens me to think he's gone.”

Varric swallowed a guilty lump in his throat. “I'm sorry. Look, Seeker, I didn't mean to make you talk about your mage friend.”

“I know. I was not trying to make you speak of Bianca. If I was, you would know. I would yell, books would be stabbed.”

Varric chuckled. “I'll keep that in mind.”

She leaned forward, over the stool in her way, and touched his knee. “Are we alright now, Varric?” There was a little worry in her voice. “I must tell you that I--”

“Cassie, Varric!” Blades blocked whatever confession the Seeker was about to make. She grasped their shoulders, shaking them out of the spell that kept their gazes locked on one another.

“ _What_?” They both snapped back.

“Sorry lovebirds, I have to steal her away for a brief war council. Morrigan and Leliana have figured something out. We've gotta get moving, and fast. Something about elven temples and a well of sorrow. It sounds positively macabre.”

Blades shot Varric a pleading look. The Seeker stood up, and he lamented the loss of her touch. She straightened her tabard and gestured for the Inquisitor to lead the way.

“Well, looks like I better get Bianca ready.” Varric polished off his drink and trailed behind them to the hall.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I'll admit it was a struggle. It almost became part of the next chapter, but you know, I just really wanted to get this out in the world. Fitting in the actual dialogue is more difficult than it should be -- half the work, right? Hopefully this gives you a)hope and b)anticipation for Eventual Smut. Which is approaching quickly here. I'd say two more chapters? Those thighs will be quaking!


	12. Fight Like A Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw, but not in the smut department

 

Titled _The Tracker of Thieves_

 

_A smooth, silky thigh appeared as she shifted in the steel chair. The dress had ripped in the ambush, a long slit running up the dark fabric. Like a damn fool, Marris hadn’t commented on it before --the stunning blue number that was so dark it was almost black. It had been a shock to see Cecilia in a dress after months of trodding through muck and fighting in moonlit forests. He’d simply lost his voice when she entered the room, her long dark hair swept up in braids like a crown around her head, a few wisps of hair tenderly kissing her neck. He could have laid down and died if she’d asked him to. Luckily, she was saving that particular demand for someone else._

_Now she sat in a chair across from him, her arms tied behind her back and a scowl in place. Whoever left her half unbound was a fool. If he’d been conscious at the time, he likely would have blown it by laughing. Marris was fully tied, as if being a man made him more the threat. They’d clearly forgotten every single thing about Cecilia in her time away from the Association._

_The wood door behind him crashed open, clattering against the stone wall. Cecilia’s expression grew darker, sharper. You could cut diamonds with her glare._

_“Brought a friend, have you?” A thick accent similar to Cecilia’s hung over Marris’ head. “He can watch then.”_

_She spit on the floor between her feet and the man simply laughed. A wheezing, wet hiss that turned into a cough. Marris strained to see the figure behind him, but the visitor stood just in his blind spot._

_“He didn’t even want to come see you. Said to ‘do away with her.’ How’s that make you feel? After all those years as his bossy fucking cunt? Not so high and mighty now are you?”_

_Cecilia rolled her eyes. “How does it make you feel to be the first sent to die? After all those years under the bottom of my heel?”_

_She leaned forward, fidgeting with her restraints. The creep burst forward, a long knife glinting under the candlelight. The sheer bulk of him blocked Cecilia from view. It was only for a moment. After a great grunt that warmed Marris’ heart, the man flew backwards._

_“The fuck?” The stranger fell against the wall, Cecila to the floor.  She was still tied to the chair, but the whole thing had shifted sideways. Her hands were working behind her back, wrists against the underside of the seat, rubbing the rope in an effort to loosen it further.  By now Marris was convinced that someone had been helping her all along by bringing her down here._  

_The lumbering beast was still quick. He was on Cecilia before she could stand, knife raised in absolute certainty. Marris never felt so fucking useless in his entire life. Any worry he possessed was unfounded, however. This woman could take care of herself. It still didn’t make him feel any better._

_“You’ve done it now, bitch!” The man lunged and for a heartrending moment it looked like the blade would find purchase in Cecilia's neck. With the fluidity of a seasoned dancer, she spun on the floor and arched her back, causing the knife to finally render her binding useless. The blade slid against one hand as it frayed the rope, but it was worth the pain._

_Cecilia jumped off the floor, just missing the next swipe of his knife. Blood ran down her arm and splattered to the ground. She continued to jump out of the way of his reach, but was coming close to the door. In a maneuver that revealed she was not a fan of undergarments, Cecilia pulled off one of her heels. The other was quickly kicked off, hitting the bulky man in the shin. She just grinned._

_The man wheeze-laughed again, swaying at a momentary impasse before her. “A fucking high heel?”_

_“You have forgotten who you are dealing with.” She slapped the bottom of the shoe and to Marris’ great surprise, a dagger tip shot out from the point. “I would never wear just a pair of heels.”_  

_Marris couldn’t help himself, and whooped. His chest was full of pride for this perfect woman. The brute looked back, suddenly remembering there was someone else in the room witnessing his shamble of a murder attempt. It was just the opening Cecilia needed. She darted forward and caught the bastard in the neck with her shoe-dagger. With a great gargle, his hand came up to clutch his spurting throat. He lurched forward to her, but faltered with the knife. Air was escaping his gaping wound._

_“Ah, and I thought the cough was disgusting.” Marris gagged at the sound of gargling blood. The man sunk to the floor, but was dying too slowly for Cecilia. She stepped on his arm and yanked the knife out of his hand._  

_“This woman is feeling very high and mighty right now, looking down at you with your own knife.”_

_She stabbed him quickly in the chest, once, then twice. The man was dead, his hand going slack and revealing the throat gash.  Cecilia stood over him, a solitary braid unwinding from her updo and falling down her back. Blood pooled down her arm and streaked her bared thigh. The dress was completely ruined and Marris felt a little bad for it._

_“So are you always without your smalls, or was it just for that dress?”_

_Instead of groaning like he expected, or rolling her eyes, Cecilia threw her head back and laughed._

_“Wouldn’t you like to know, Marris.”_

_She stalked towards him, a glint in her eyes. After cutting Marris’ binding, she remained standing over him, closer than they’d been before. He wasn’t sure if being aroused was wrong or right in that moment. Even though his limbs were free, he didn’t dare move an inch._

_“Andraste's blessed embrace, you’re fucking gorgeous, Tracker.”_

_“Oh?” She smirked and backed away. “Let’s go, we still have work to do.” She found her heels, put them back on, and ripped a bit of the bottom of her dress to wrap her wounded hand. Looking back to Marris, she grinned. “You can tell me how beautiful I am after.”_

 

* * *

 

The Arbor Wilds were deceptive in their beauty. The serenity of the lush forest could render a traveler quiescent, standing stock still in observance of the lazy brooks, chittering birds and oversized flora. You could easily lose yourself forever in the steamy, overgrown jungle. If the animals that crept unseen didn’t take you, a Dalish hunter easily could with a swift dagger to the back or an arrow through your eye. Now with Corypheus’ legion of impervious beasts, a greater threat invaded the Wilds themselves. Every turn along the water’s edge revealed more Red Templars, their blood-red eyes and twisted, grotesque forms standing out starkly against the already extraordinary surroundings.

Cassandra was sick of looking at them, these alien templars who once may have been good people dedicated to the Chantry, no different than her. It would have been easier to picture them all as abusive caretakers deserving of their fate, but there was no hope in that. Cassandra wasn’t ready to admit the Chantry lost, despite all the evidence before her. She had faith, she had determination, and for now she had her sword. Letting it guide her path, she sliced through each corrupted templar and allowed the weight of their undetermined souls sit on her shoulders.

 _There is a better way forward._ SLICE. _We can build anew._ SLICE, SLICE. _Our past mistakes do not define the Maker’s will._ SLICE, SLICE, SLICE, SLICE, SLI--

“Seeker!”

Cassandra spun to find Varric toeing through the pile of bodies surrounding her. While it was a welcome sight, there was something far grander behind him. She tilted her head back, staring in awe at the temple entrance, a great archway shrouded in vines and guarded by two giant stone wolves. They’d made it -- bringing the Inquisitor through Corypheus’ army at last. Varric coughed, snapping her out of her reverie.

“What is it, Varric?”

“Just making sure you were all right, Seeker. Haven’t said a word since we got into the damn jungle.”

She smiled at her misplaced dwarf. He really hated the wilderness. “I am fine, Varric.” Cassandra looked for Evelyn. “Where is the Inquisitor?” Cullen and a few of his soldiers lingered nearby, waiting for the next round of enemies to appear from the treeline.

“Ah, she stormed off. Took Chuckles and the Kid, figured they’d be knowledgeable about all the elf stuff and creepy shit.”

Cassandra was about to argue, for the Inquisitor always brought her with for missions of importance. She thought for a moment. Bull had yelled for them to go ahead at the last ruins, fighting ferociously beside his favorites -- Dorian and Madame de Fer. Which only meant--

“Blackwall,” she sighed. In Varric’s return with Bianca, the lying coward had been far from her thoughts. She’d hardly acknowledged his presence anymore, the deception still far too fresh.

“I thought you’d like that.” Varric shook his head and reached out for her arm. “Blades said he needed it more -- part of a redemption arc, hopefully not too dramatic.” Cassandra let out an irritated huff.  “You should cut him some slack. Not everyone can live up to you, but we sure try.”

“Oh? I haven’t seen it yet.” He recoiled as if burned by her words, and she laughed as she caught his retreating hand. “I’m not used to being replaced so easily.”

“Shit, Seeker. You know you’re impossible to replace.”

The air between them was thick, and not just for the jungle heat. Cassandra gulped as her sweaty palm became heavy in Varric’s hand. There was warmth in his eyes that filled her with a nervous energy. If they had not been surrounded by dead, monstrous bodies, Cassandra would have been fit to swoon.

“Cassandra -- there’s more coming now.” Cullen shouted from across the clearing then chuckled. “You can find out how irreplaceable you are after the fight.”

With a great disgruntled noise, Cassandra broke contact with Varric and headed towards the Inquisition’s chuckling commander. “You are impossible.”

The trees and bushes before them shook and a dozen red beasts burst through the leaves. Cullen and Cassandra moved forward, side by side, as Varric fell back to find higher ground. It was the same game as before, strike and slice, dodge wild movements and beat the enemy down. A particularly resistant templar pushed her back from Cullen’s side, only falling after a bolt passed over her shoulder and sunk into its eye. Cassandra didn’t have time to glance back at Varric in thanks, as another group of three converged on her. She pressed them back, sweat starting to slide down her forehead. It was unbearably hot in all her armor.

The commander struck down templar after templar, coming to assist her after felling his own. The teasing grin from just before was far gone, replaced by gritted teeth. She couldn’t imagine how Cullen was able to fight them now, without complaint. As a Seeker, she was resistant to the call of the red lyrium and its ill effects. But surely the lyrium’s song was loud in his ears, a special kind of temptation. It was not lost on Cassandra that had she not recruited him to the Inquisition, he could have been one of the bodies at her feet. Perhaps this is what drove him along so tirelessly now.

As soon as they’d brought the group to their knees, another wave of corrupted templars swept into the clearing. It was a group of five Horrors, spewing red lyrium and spitting red crystals at her feet. Cassandra took stock. Two of the three Inquisition soldiers had fallen, the solitary woman left was an archer, who crouched near Varric up the rise behind them. Cullen’s skin was gray and he wavered on his heels. All the raw lyrium was making the man desperately sick.

“Get back,” she growled.

“I’m fine.” He shifted his stance and rolled his shoulders. The Horrors could sense weakness on the air, and all aimed their caustic spray of lyrium at the commander.

“Maker, Cullen. Get back!” Cassandra crossed before him. “I will not let you be a fool.” A few bolts and arrows hit the Horrors, but seemed to make no difference to the abominations. Cassandra took a deep breath, and steeled herself. It had been some time since she used her ability. 

Cassandra planted her feet, standing between Cullen and the red beasts. She slammed her shield into the ground to guard her, then slid her sword into its sheath at her hip. Her hands gripped the edge of her shield, which sizzled with the hits of hot liquid lyrium. A red shard swished past her ear and bolts flew from the other direction, thudding into the approaching Horrors. Cassandra closed her eyes, concentrating on the energy inside her. She felt a surge of power bubbling beneath her skin, waiting to be released. It was an odd feeling, calling on her ability as if a creature lived inside her, lying in wait. Her skin felt taught, her heartbeat thudded in her ears, drowning out everything else. The bubbling reached a fever-pitch, a feeling as familiar as fullness after a large meal. With her thoughts on the templars before her, Cassandra opened her eyes and released the energy inside.

It manifested in a blinding white light, washing over the Horrors. They writhed in agony, falling to the ground while still convulsing. Cassandra never saw that part. Everything comes with a price, and boiling the lyrium from your enemies' veins had a steep one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOOOOO! IS IT ME YOU'RE LOOKING FOR?
> 
> I have failed this story a bit. I was out of the country for almost two weeks and then lost any energy to write upon my return. I'll be honest and admit I started drafting CH 13 first though, so at least the smut is on its way. :) 
> 
> It also really bugs me that Cass doesn't use her ability to literally BOIL THE LYRIUM out of people's veins during the game. I HC that it is a big energy drain (So don't worry too much, she's fine. Just resting a little) and therefore pretty rarely used. Varric doesn't know this, of course. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who comments, leaves kudos and reads this story! You are the best!


	13. Everything is Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally an impossibly long chapter. With a bit of fluff and a bunch of smut. I know I said smut CH 13, but that's where pantsing your way through a story comes to pass. Please enjoy in the meantime, I'll be posting the next chapter shortly, you won't even really have to wait at all. :D

A poem without a title. 

_Gasps and breathless murmurs are weightless_

_slipping and escaping free of soft lips, dissipating into the night._

_He wants to tie them down_

_keep them forever,_

_more than memory._

 

_All at once, everything is nothing._

 

_No mere words could ever capture what it is like_

_to hear them, feel them_

_on her mouth._

_Coaxing them out._

 

_In that moment he loses all his beautiful words._

_Only the song of her sighs will ever do._

 

 

* * *

 

“Maker’s balls.” Varric swore under his breath.

The Seeker had wedged her shield in the soil like she was setting up camp. The damn woman proceeded to sheath her sword too, as if there wasn’t a swarm of red lyrium spitting hunchbacks closing in. Behind her, Curly swayed to the same rhythm whispering in Varric's head.

The red lyrium surging through the templars sang to them both, beckoned Varric to come touch. It was just one more fucking dwarven perk: lyrium location. Having the corrupted stuff so close made his skin crawl. His every decision was that much harder to make, as if the song was filling his mind, blocking signals to his limbs. Each movement needed to pass a checkpoint. _Do I want this, or am I being controlled?_

With great concentration, Varric pumped bolts into the approaching horrors, whizzing past the Seeker. She bowed her head and stood with alarming stillness. It was unnerving -- Cassandra was never still. An endless series of battered training dummys could attest to that. Varric didn’t know what in the void she was thinking. His instinct was to rush to her side, though suddenly a wave of pure, white light rippled out of the Seeker. It boiled the very air before her, like visible waves of heat on a blistering Kirkwall afternoon. As it washed over the corrupted templars, she fell to her knees, more or less collapsing against her shield.

The effect of the spell, or whatever seekers could do, was fucking incredible. The red monsters began to shriek and shake, red-tinged steam rising out of their pores. They too hit the ground, and continued to convulse in agony. Five horrors were defeated in an instant. With the effect, the song had retreated into the recesses of his mind. The clearing was finally silent and Varric sighed with relief. For the moment, he didn’t sense any more of the lyrium on legs approaching. 

It seemed like Curly could sense the moratorium too. He took off his great lion helm and leaned on his shield, wiping sweat from his brow. Cassandra was still on the ground though, a new kind of stillness that freaked Varric out. With the return of swift thinking, Bianca was shifted to her holster and Varric scrambled down the rock ledge. Panic was rising in his gullet and a sheen of cold sweat threatened his hold on the stone beneath him. _Shit, shit, shit._ Sheer terror felt a whole lot like being seduced by the red stuff. 

With a graceless slide down the last few feet, Varric hit the ground running. He wasn’t built for it. Dwarves weren’t meant to flee, but hold like a rock fortress in the middle of a storm. He breathed heavily once reaching the Seeker’s side, a pang in his own from the exertion.

“Seeker?” He touched a shoulder, but she didn’t react. 

Varric scrambled around to her other side. To check her breathing, or if her heart was still  beating after pushing out so much damn power. His immediate thought was for Blondy, which if his heart wasn’t already breaking that would have been a well swung hammer to the chest. He looked around, hoping a healer suddenly popped out of thin air, knowing what to do. Instead, the archer who was near him moments ago on the ledge was checking on her boss, talking to Curly with a furrowed brow. He couldn't believe the commander still remained so calm when the Seeker was clearly dying in front of him. Varric mumbled something untoward as he shifted Cassandra back, resting her all too limp body against him.

She was still breathing, but her face was impassive, calm. It wasn’t right. His Seeker was full of emotion -- of anger and disdain, frustration and righteous fury. And joy and delight, though far less of it than he’d like to admit. Damn if that wasn’t mostly his fault too. If only he’d come to sense sooner and just kissed the impossible woman as soon as he returned to Skyhold.

“Seeker, wake up.” He soothed a hand against her cheek, hoping to revive her. If only he had some sort of magic, to bring her back exactly right with a wave of his hand. But he was just a dwarf, and not even a good one at that. He was a dreamer and a useless second son, and there was no way to write her back to consciousness. He did the only thing he could think of, and told the Seeker a story.

“You know Seeker, you scared the shit out of me when we first met. It’s the honest truth. Hawke, she can dismember a man in a minute flat. We’ve timed it. But you, you could do it with a single look. I just remember sitting in that chair, thinking maybe if my mouth could move faster than your sword I’d be alright. Then you seemed to like it, listening to my stories about Hawke and our friends and all the stupid shit we did thinking we’d save Kirkwall. I can picture it now -- how wide your eyes grew, how entranced by my words you were, leaning forward like you could steal the next line and savor it for later. Then you acted harsh in order to cover it up.” Varric swallowed a pesky lump in his throat and continued.

“I know you think it from time to time, but you’ve never been cold or undeserving of love or romance or being swept off your perfect feet. And we both know how much I’ve thought about it before, Seeker. I’m sorry I hid it from you. You pretend to be stiff and I pretend to be unaffected by the important shit.”

He choked on a threatening sob, and bowed his forehead to hers. “I hope you can sense I’m telling the truth now. I am absolutely affected by this.”

He whispered a litany of pleas, rocking with the Seeker in his lap. An hour could have passed, or a day. Varric couldn’t be sure of everything he said, just pouring out regrets and entreaties until a respectful clearing of the throat grabbed his attention. He looked up to where a clearly uncomfortable Curly rubbed the back of his neck.

“What is it?” Varric practically spat at his feet.

“I couldn’t help overhear--” He trailed off and Varric could have shot a bolt through his knee.

“And? Decided to finally help?”

Curly frowned, then pried the Seeker’s shield out of the ground, clearly annoyed. “You think I forgot about Cassandra after what she just did for me.” He placed the shield on the ground, then knelt in front of Varric. “The Seekers of Truth are quite different than templars. Their power is a gift, whereas for templars it is much more a curse. And a few, like Cassandra, have an incredible ability to keep both templars and mages in line if they so choose. It’s not without its drawbacks, however. The last time she did this it took a few minutes for her to get up, but that was more than a year ago.” The commander touched his scar absently, remembering a story that Varric thought he’d like to hear. “Without practice, it is harder to recover. Unlike most mages, she must sacrifice a part of herself to make it work. True devotion.”

Varric looked to her resting face again. “So what you’re saying is--”

“She’s fine, Varric. Really.” He chuckled. “And she can certainly hear everything you’ve said. So hopefully you did mean it.”

Varric released a pent-up breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Damn, Curly.” He shook his head. “I should have let Hawke gut you.”

The other man just smiled, if a bit sadly, and got to his feet. He was a little off balance, and the whites of his eyes were eerily red. The poor sod must have been suffering through the entire day. Without complaint of course, which was more than Varric could say of himself. Sighing,  Varric glanced back at the Seeker, who much to his surprise, was watching him with a smile. She was still slumped against his chest, either too tired to move or enjoying the closeness. On impulse, Varric carefully moved her chin and bent forward to kiss her. It was an awkward position, but it hardly mattered. 

The kiss was gentle and brief. The Seeker clutched his arm, and made a soft sigh that filled him with a rush of adoration. Damn if the day wasn’t a riot of emotions. He pulled back and studied her face. The way she was looking at him now, full of expectation and longing, it was both terrifying and exalting.

“You scared me there, Seeker. What took so long?”

Cassandra wiggled in his hold, fully alert now. “Perhaps I was waiting for a kiss.” She squeezed his arm for emphasis. “One of your heroes would have tried it much sooner.”

 

* * *

There had been no time for lingering in Varric’s arms, much to Cassandra’s regret. One of Leliana’s men reported an impossible tale. The Inquisitor and her party vanished through a mirror -- a twin to the one in Skyhold. The hope was that they’d already returned, taking whatever Corypheus had wanted inside the temple and escaping his grasp in the meantime. 

The four of them left in the clearing departed, heading back to the the main camp. The elven spy took a separate path, able to navigate the forest with a speed their clunky armor would not allow. Cassandra wanted to shuck off the metal for a chance to breathe. She was mostly recovered from using her ability, feeling just a bit hollow in her chest. It was an odd thing, but how much different was it than magic? A spirit had touched her mind once. There were too many unbelievable things in the world for her to sit and wonder about each. It was better to have faith all would work out in the end and keep moving.  

By their arrival at the main camp there was a riot of movement. Josephine had tossed her paperwork up in relief at the sight of them. Without delay, she rushed to Cullen and began discussing their return to Skyhold. He looked overwhelmed, but nodded at Cassandra before being swept away completely. He had thanked her quietly on their return march, in a way that was quite like the commander, full of chastisement for his own supposed failings. She would seek him out later, once he’d seen Evelyn again with his own eyes, and remind him here was no need for such harsh criticism.

“What are we, nug hide?” Varric joked. She smiled, and took his hand briefly before looking for work to do.  

The camp was in complete tear-down, the soldiers and scouts moving as efficiently as possible. She and Varric were left to their own devices, and ended up taking respite against the roots of a towering tree. Cassandra leaned against Varric's side. It was a lovely thing to be so close, relishing his warmth. The intimacy was short-lived, however. As soon as Cullen had a chance to breathe and confer with his captains, the group was on the move again. They were Skyhold bound.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Is anyone even going to read this chapter with that note at the top? Or will they all skip to chapter 14 to read glorious smut?_ Amarmeme wondered to herself, but posted the damn thing in two pieces anyway.


	14. Seeker on Top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even trying anymore with the titles, I mean. Come on. 
> 
> SMUT at lasttttttt. Definetly nsfw and not safe for MRAs. xD

An undated letter

_Seeker,_

 

_You’ll never read this, but Hawke heard that writing letters can be therapeutic. Not that she’d know -- she’s never written anyone before. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I love you -- with some grand hope that it’ll help me get over it?_

 

_That’s an awful sentiment to even put to paper. Sorry. I think I was supposed to be more verbose, but there’s no way this is going to work. Hawke’s staring at me from across the room and I’m just wasting time now until she leaves._

 

_Ah, and there, she’s gone. But not before flipping me off. She says I’m an ass for not telling you how I feel. I don’t know, I think I’d be an ass telling you I love you without any hope of it being returned. That seems worse._

 

_You’re quite the woman, Seeker._

 

_\--VOT_

 

* * *

 

“You'll have to share.”

Cassandra stared at the forward scout, who was attempting to flag others to their respective tents. The woman was not Harding, the dwarf had continued with Cullen and Josephine while the bulk of the army camped for the night. The group had been on the march for hours to reach this spot in the Hinterlands, and it was quickly growing dark. This new scout however, was no less capable of controlling the post through the chaotic move of troops eager to return to Skyhold. Cassandra still wanted to press her though, for sharing a tent with Varric, while certainly appealing, was also somewhat terrifying. 

“There must be another.” 

The rest of the inner circle had already nabbed their quarters for the evening. Bull and Dorian hadn’t wasted time entering their tent, and while she didn’t see Sera, the elf was off somewhere in the sprawling forest camp, probably passed out by a fire or in the arms of some pretty scout. Vivienne though had snagged a solitary tent, just apart from the main crush by a softly babbling brook. 

“No, we had to move quickly, and that meant leaving some tents behind. Go, there's plenty of room for two.”

Cassandra wanted to strangle the woman, but also had to give her respect for not backing down. The scout again pointed where to go, and Cassandra nodded in acquiescence.

“Anyone listening would think you didn't even like me,” Varric said. Cassandra blushed at his words. “Of course, we both know that’s not true. You must snore.”

She scoffed and Varric passed to enter the somewhat small canvas tent. Cassandra said a quick plea to Andraste to give her courage, patience, anything in that moment. She sighed and followed the dwarf’s footsteps. If she did anything else she’d seem nonsensical. This was, of course, not the first time they’d shared a tent, but Varric had never kissed her before. Cassandra should have been bone tired, but the recent memory of Varric holding her close had the same effect as beating practice dummies to a pulp in the yard. She was keyed up, an alertness that would run thin eventually but for now gave her a false sense of being invulnerable.

Once inside, they removed their armor as usual, facing away from one another. If Varric wanted to continue with what he’d started, he didn’t show it. She imagined he was quite content, able to tell she was nervous about the arrangement. He said nothing as they laid down even, barely a foot apart from one another. Cassandra was beginning to doubt what happened earlier -- perhaps it was a dream, the result of coming to after having drained herself.

She turned away from Varric, studying the edges of the tent flap in the almost darkness. Was it her turn to confess now? Was he waiting for her to speak? Normally the dwarf would jump at any sort of silence with a remark or complaint of some kind.

Finally, he spoke. “Seeker?”

She felt relieved at the sound of his voice. “Yes, Varric?” She didn’t turn over, but shifted under her blanket.

“What I said earlier, when I thought you were dying?” He paused, baiting her to speak. 

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I was not dying.” This was when Varric would normally chuckle or tease, indulging her taciturn behavior. Instead, he reached out to her, squeezing the back of her arm. Cassandra stilled, her nerves exploding from the center of his touch. The restless energy she had moments before paled in comparison to the excitement her body felt now. 

“Cassandra, look at me?” His voice was soft, questioning. If Varric had asked her this six months ago, her reaction would have been much different -- mired in disdain and annoyance at a preconceived slight soon to roll off his sharp tongue. Now though she found there was no doubt in his sincerity. She rolled over swiftly, facing Varric. He was smiling somewhat, a trace of amusement in his eyes.

“What?” He was staring at her, the corners of his eyes crinkled, the lines around his mouth creased in a secretive smile. She looked down at her shirt, seeing if perhaps a stay had come loose, providing him with an eyeful. There was nothing amiss, but she blushed under the intensity of his gaze. _A very handsome gaze_ , she thought.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You don’t know?” He asked. Cassandra huffed, readying herself to be teased for missing something that should have been so obvious. “I love you, Cassandra. That’s why I’m looking at you like this.”

A jolt of pleasurable warmth ran through her at the words. It was not as if the statement was shocking, given she’d read this admission delivered in a variety of ways to a multitude of make-believe women that were all, at their core, caricatures of her. His ability to speak with such ease amazed her. She was terrified to do the same, her insides already in knots at the idea. By the way he was waiting for her to speak, propped up on one elbow and smiling cockily, she knew he was quite aware of her feelings already. She did love Varric, though it was difficult to voice how she felt. It _should_  have been easy for a Seeker of Truth, for it was the most true thing she knew -- as consistent as the rising sun and as right as striking down an enemy. If only she could move the words out with force.

Cassandra shifted, mimicking Varric's pose. She leaned to him and placed her hand on top of his between them. Varric flipped his hand, lacing their fingers together, then grinned broadly. He knew exactly what she was struggling to say, and was loving every moment of her discomfort. It only endeared him to her more.

“You ass,” she laughed. 

“Me?” He acted affronted. “My heart’s in a puddle at your feet and you stepped in it. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“You are much better with words than I am.” He tipped his head as if to agree. “It has been said I am a woman of action.”

Before he could reply, Cassandra grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, yanking him to her. Varric’s eyes widened in surprise and she kissed him, deeply and fiercely. One of his hands dipped beneath the blanket, sliding down to the small of her back, extra pressure snapping their hips even closer. She curled into him, entwining their legs and slipping her tongue into an eager mouth. Everything that was too difficult to express with words flowed out of her movements; a hand traveling to cup a strong jawline, firm lips yielding in the give and take of passion, the insistent, rhythmic pressing of hips now too awakened to still. Her head felt light, floating, though if it was from kissing Varric or the use of her ability earlier, it was impossible to tell. Cassandra pulled back to take a solid breath, her heart fluttering as much as her head.

“Are you okay?” Varric smoothed his hand up and down her back gently. “We don’t have to do this right now. You did pass out earlier. I’d hate to be the cause again by--”

She kissed him, cutting off his sweet concerns before they turned into something boastful. This kiss was deeper, needier, as Cassandra pushed her way on top. She straddled him, and Varric took full advantage of his newly freed arm, bringing both hands to grip her hips. It had been far too long since she’d done this. Her body hummed with desire, her heart raced. Varric continued to assist her as she rocked against him, the press of his hands into her sides an enjoyable sensation. His cock hardened beneath her, and while she easily could have chased her own pleasure in the movement, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more -- flesh on flesh, sweat and heat. Cassandra leaned awkwardly to one side, pulling her breeches down one leg and over a foot. Varric stopped kissing her in order to watch the fumbling, dark as it was. His hand ran up her uncovered thigh as she tried to shift to the other side, sending a shiver up her leg.

“Andraste’s sweet ass, you’re not wearing anything under there.” 

She continued to struggle with her clothing as Varric’s hand slid to cup her cunt. It completely threw her off balance. He steadied her with his other arm, wrapping it around her waist.

“Are you always walking around like this? Maker, take me now.”

“Varric -- let me finish.” Cassandra laughed. He was eagerly exploring the newly exposed areas, keeping her in place.

“I don’t think so, Seeker.” With a smooth move she had to give him credit for, Varric pulled her dangling breeches aside and slid her forward, lifting at the waist. He was much stronger than she realized, a fact that sent a thrill down her spine. One foot was still trapped in fabric, but Varric held her still above him. She was straddling his chest, and he paused, perhaps hoping she would say something to stop him if that was what she desired. “You okay with this?”

Even though she knew what he was planning to do, Cassandra feigned ignorance. “With what exactly am I supposed to be okay?” She reached down and held his face. He tipped his head to kiss one of her wrists. Her heart fluttered from the gesture, it was loving and soft, and not entirely expected. She was going to let him off the hook, but he wasn’t buying her act anyway. Varric grabbed her ass and lifted her up again, positioning her legs on either side of his head. 

“Gonna make me ask again?” Varric’s hands ran over her thighs, clutched her hips then travelled underneath her loose tunic to settle on her breasts. He cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them for the first time. He kissed her inner thigh, then nipped the skin there. With nowhere to hang on, Cassandra griped his arms. Callused fingertips ran over her pebbled skin, his thumbs brushing her nipples softly, maddeningly.

She was wet, hot and completely craving touch. It seemed he wouldn’t proceed without her giving something up, and she was past the point of caring. It could have been awkward and disastrous, fucking for the first time in a dark tent in the middle of nowhere with the entire army around them, but Varric kept it from being so. Somehow his talking so much felt right, it was a bit like goading, similar to their usual back-and-forth. Instead of snapping back, she released his arms and sank her fingers into his hair, guiding him to her cunt.

It was revelatory, his tongue sliding against her. How had she lived every day without this? Sex felt good and Maker she’d put it off for what reason? She’d been waiting for Varric without even knowing. His hands shifted to her hips, urging her closer. It felt wonderful, but part of her was holding back. It could have been the newness of it all, but it had been a very long time since she assumed this position.

Varric, the astute man he was, could tell. He stopped working, then panted hotly against her thigh. “You’ve never once been shy, don’t start now on my account.” He draped an arm over her leg and pressed a hand against her mound, running a thumb through slick folds. She rocked into it and groaned as he dipped the digit inside of her. “Fuck, I want to hear you groan exactly like that." 

It was enough to rid Cassandra of any doubt. She pushed his hand aside and set herself on his mouth. It was met with rumbling approval against her cunt. She pulled off her shirt, then guided his hands to her breasts, showing him how she wanted to be touched. He began to circle her clit with a hot, slick tongue. The sensation was incredible, and she ground against him. Weaving her fingers into his hair, she rode his mouth.

Varric licked and stroked her until she was breathless. The tent had become stuffy from their body heat, and a sheen of sweat coated her skin. It only served to push her towards climax, the slippery sensation of his hands, her wetness on his tongue. Varric sucked hard on her clit and she groaned loudly. He chuckled against her and she gasped from the vibration. Cassandra was close, so close to coming. Her thighs quaked from holding herself up. She redirected one of his hands down her body, and Varric cupped her from behind, sliding his thumb inside her entrance again. The stubble on his chin prickled her sensitive skin in just the right way. Combined with the pressure on her clit and the friction of his thumb dragging in and out of her, it was enough to send her reeling. 

Her legs began to shake for an entirely different reason, the wave of pleasure bursting from her core and radiating outward. A gruntled “fuck” slipped from her mouth and Varric sucked harder, fucked her harder with his hand until she gripped his arm and begged him to stop. She rode out the last few pulses of pleasure and he slowed, languidly stroking her entrance and kissing her folds, then inner thighs.

When she stopped moving, and began to sink down, one shaking arm trying to hold her up, Varric wriggled between her legs and wrapped an arm around her. He shifted her to the bedroll and Cassandra collapsed into a boneless heap beside him. The energy she had before was zapped, and she feared she would fall asleep without saying another word. She attempted to move, but he pulled her to his chest and kissed the top of her forehead.

“Don’t you want...?” She trailed off.

“All I want is for you to fall asleep right here.”

Cassandra yawned and nuzzled closer. “You sure?” 

“We’ve got plenty of time, Cass.” He piled the blankets on top of them and grabbed the hand that was lazily stroking his chest. Drawing it to his mouth, he paused. “You’ll never complain about sharing a tent with me again will you?”

She chuckled softly and he kissed her hand. It was pretty much perfect, and Cassandra drifted off to sleep feeling loved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats nervously*
> 
> Well I hope that was okay.


	15. Good Morning, Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I contemplated back and forth on this chapter. Should they do it again, or should they wait?
> 
> Ah, screw it, let 'em bang. You've waited a while for this chapter anyways.
> 
> NSFW

Excerpt on the back of a card with a rose on the front,

Hidden inside a folded letter, signed by Isabela

 

_They call her the red queen, but the king doesn’t know why. The taste of her mouth is sweet and tempting. The kind of treat one savors over and over until there’s no room for anything more. An uninhibited sigh rolls from those soft lips. It sends shockwaves into the heart of the king. How can lovers stand it? The needing, insatiable thirst for more. More caresses, more tongue, more gentle moans. Her hands shift to his front, eagerly tugging at stays and freeing his throbbing member. Lips the color of spilled blood wrap around the length of him and he could weep at the relief. Suddenly, he understands the moniker._

* * *

 

Cassandra stirred in her sleep, jolting Varric awake. It took a few incoherent attempts for him to piece out where he was, curled up next to the Seeker of all people. When it came rushing back, some of it straight to his cock, he couldn’t begrudge her the disturbance. Cassandra could have thrown a punch and he still would have laid there, slack jawed with awe at the beautiful creature beside him. And Andraste’s bouncing tits, the day before -- and the night, _especially the night_ \-- had been pretty much fucking perfect.

The Seeker’s expression was soft, her mouth relaxed instead of set in a line and ready to argue. Suddenly she twitched again, a ghost of a smile passing over her lips. Dwarves couldn’t dream, and while he usually didn’t think much of it, Varric felt a bit jealous of whatever Cassandra was imagining. Maybe she conjured him during the quick trip to the Fade, expanding on the scene from the night before when she’d ridden his face like a warrior queen gone to battle. His cock thickened at the memory: her silky cunt in his face and perfect breasts beneath his hands.  

Varric swore under his breath and readjusted himself. Yeah, they’d done some pretty intense shit the night before, but the Seeker would definitely not want him jerking off while she slept. Instead of shutting his eyes and thinking of Choir Boy reciting the verse at him, Varric did what you were also definitely not supposed to do. He watched her sleep.

Soon the rest of the camp rose, the clinking steel of armor and cooking pots heralding another long day on the march to Skyhold. A startling clash of metal rang out and Cassandra bolted awake, prepared to take on whatever intruders dared bother her rest.  She whirled out of the blankets, gloriously naked and poised to pounce.

“What is it?" 

“Did someone train you to do that, or does any sign of fighting get your blood pumping?” 

Cassandra looked down, to her horror, realizing Varric was staring straight up her body. 

“Varric!” She blushed scarlet, and pulled a blanket up to cover herself. 

He chuckled. “A little late for that, don’t you think? Come back to bed, Cassandra. They’ll get us when they need us.” 

She frowned momentarily, then sunk to her knees, crawling back to the bedroll. He almost chewed his lip in half, biting down so hard when she stalked towards him. At night he'd only been provided a glimpse of her body. Now, the morning sun’s rays were bright enough to illuminate her inside the tent. Every curve and long muscle was a damn tempting sight that set his veins on fire. A few snaking silver scars marred her hip, among other places, but each mark only served to make him want her more. A new desire flowed through him as easy as words to the page: his mouth hotly worshipping the spots she probably hated most, leaving a new memory to rival the old one. 

Cassandra sank down on her side, fluffing up the blanket to rest over them. Varric caught a glimpse of the thatch of dark hair between her thighs again and let out a low groan. The Seeker sniggered. The punishment for that little laugh was to pull her closer. She threw up her hands, putting up paltry resistance, but Varric was far too swift. He fell to his back, hauling her halfway over him. It must have reminded her of the night before, as she dipped her head to hide continued embarrassment.

She mumbled into his chest. _“My mont mo my my meel mo mospsd.”_  

“Try that again,” Varric chuckled. He rested an arm behind his head, untucked her chin and her honeyed brown eyes met his gaze.

“I _said_ \-- I don’t know why I feel so exposed.” 

“Shit, don’t be embarrassed. You’re a beautiful woman, Cassandra.” An eyebrow raised skeptically. Varric threw his other arm about her back, keeping her tightly in place. “Tell me -- was I everything you dreamed I’d be?” 

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “That would imply I thought of you in that way before.” 

“Aw, that stings. Just like my scalp.” Varric touched his forehead, where the roots of his hair were still recovering from the Seeker’s more authoritative bedroom style. 

Cassandra, for her part, burst out laughing, the muscles of her stomach rippling against his side. She smoothed her hands through his hair, fingers massaging his tortured head. When the hilarity of his pain died away, she leaned forward and kissed him. Varric dropped his head back against the bedroll and clutched her waist with both hands. Her breasts rested tauntingly against his chest and she nestled a leg between his. As she moved against his thigh, a hypnotic rhythm, Varric had never wanted a woman more.

A little rap against the tent poles stopped her progress. It was the signal to get moving.

“Ugh,” she groaned. Her lips were swollen from his attentions and Varric would have done anything to keep that sultry mouth on him.

“Should I tell them we’ll just catch up later?” He tried to nip her bottom lip, but the Seeker was ever punctual. She pushed out of his hold and stood up, the blanket pooling at her feet. “Maker’s ass, you’re not convincing me to get up looking like that, Cassandra.” The woman he loved rolled her damn eyes at him, turning to bend and pick up her armor in the corner. Varric panted at the sight.

“ _Fuck_.”

“What?” She teased, looking back and shaking her hips -- and round, spectacular ass-- at him. “If this will not get you up, I don’t know what else will.”

Varric flew to his feet faster than a nug down a landslide. Hands grasped hips, his name flew from shocked lips, and he pushed her up against a table he didn’t even know was there. A pitcher crashed to the ground, water splashing his feet. The table must have been Dwarven made, for it held steady as she groped against it. The Ancestors did something right after all.

“Varric, you mean to--”

“Yes.”

She fell to an elbow, her other hand searching blindly backwards for his cock. Maker, he was not going to last long in this position. Her cunt was already glistening wet, and it sent a bolt of pleasure right to his gut. Yeah, he wanted a quick tumble, but not _that_ quick.

“Cassandra, turn around.” He helped her spin and Cassandra dropped to the table. Without hesitation, she spread her legs for him. The view was just as tantalizing as before and he needed to be in the heat of her. “Don’t -- just don’t judge me too harshly this time, Seeker. I--” She rested back on one arm and swept her fingers over her clitoris.

“Varric, if you do not get inside me I will actually kill you this time.”

“Right, yep.”

Varric dropped his trousers, his cock springing out in triumph. The desire demon across from him caught his backside with a heel and dragged him the last steps. Those impossibly long legs were devious. The tip of his cock nestled in her folds and she helped guide him inside. Her eagerness, downright playfulness he’d honestly not expected, was thrilling. There was no time to contemplate this new-found feeling once the head of his cock plunged into silky, wet heat. As a writer, Varric should have been able to describe anything, prided himself on it even. But the sweet, wet slide in and out of her body left him without all his clever words, without the ability to even string a Maker-forsaken sentence together. The only phrase that came to mind in the moment was "pure bliss."

Their love making was fast, furious and something he wanted to repeat until the world crumbled around their tent. Fuck Corypheus, fuck all the slits in the sky -- her body and her pleasure was the only thing he cared about. He rocked into her, clutching a hip and a thigh. Somehow, Cassandra came first, her fingers flying over the little bundle of nerves until she cried out. Right away she realized herself, and bit her moans back. The only reasonable thing he could do was grab her tighter, push into her harder. She shifted, curling towards him, seeking his mouth. Quick, slim fingers latched onto his jaw, and with the crook of her finger he followed wherever she beckoned. Their kiss was hot and a bit sloppy, tongues winding, lips bitten. Cassandra groaned and grunted, ensuring he’d never be able to fight alongside her again without picturing this. A particularly hard tug on a lower lip forced a yelp out of Varric. She smiled serenely, then wrapped her legs around his waist, showing absolutely no remorse, or mercy.

“Shit, Cass-- you’re so--"

The angle allowed him slide in further yet; his cock fully hilted. Two or three or, fuck he wasn't sure how many, thrusts later, Varric came, spilling inside her. The rush was euphoric, but the way she captured his mouth in a searing final kiss sent a cascade of goosebumps down his spine. He wanted to build a shrine for her, get down on his knees and pledged fealty to this impossibly perfect woman. He'd already followed her across damn near half of Thedas, but he'd go into the Void and back if she asked him to.

They panted against each other, Varric unwinding her legs. He pulled out, regretfully, as another thump against their tent cleared the atmosphere of lust.

“Look, if I had it my way you two could cuddle the day away. This scout is gonna make me come in there and get you if you don’t quit with the noise.” Tiny boomed, loud enough for the whole camp to hear. Hawke probably snickered all the way in the Anderfels based on how his voice carried.

Cassandra groaned in disgust. “Do not even consider it. Unless you care to lose your other eye.”

“Ha, good man, Varric. You need any tips on helping her relieve that stress, let me know.”

Bull’s laugh faded away and the two of them dressed in a rush. Varric kept snatching kisses whenever he saw the opportunity present itself, and the Seeker tried batting him away before giving into it each time. On the whole, they were disgustingly smitten with one another. The kind of hopeless idiots he always teased smugly out loud, but secretly pined to be.

“Varric, stop,” Cassandra cooed. She wiggled out of his hold and picked up her sword belt. Arming herself, the Seeker couldn’t stop smiling.

“You think we’ll make it back tonight? Or do we get to share a tent again?”

“It may be late, but we will reach Skyhold.” She sounded wary. Nervous. Her hands fuddled with the belt loops.

Varric assisted, stilling her hands and pulling the leather through. She looked away, towards the flaps that lead to the camp. Her shoulders were straight and stiff. “You shouldn’t worry about what they’ll think, Cass.”

“I’m not,” she snapped. “You believe I care for anyone else’s opinion on the matter?”

“Well, why are you tensing up like a templar caught with his sword stuck up a mage’s robes?”

She sighed, releasing the stress in her body. “There is much to discuss, Varric. I...”

“You want to talk about whatever _this_ is?” He gestured between them. “It's the least I can do, Seeker. How about your room tonight? Or you going to make me sleep alone?” She smiled slyly. “Though I might be safer in my own bed. In case any more loud noises wake you.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. Cassandra shoved him back on his heels and pushed through the tent flap.

Damn if he wasn’t a sucker in love. Even her disgusted noises made him grin. Whatever she wanted to talk about, he wasn’t worried. Now that Varric had her, there wasn’t anything that could keep them apart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was writing in the meantime between these udpates. Check out the Cassarric piece I wrote for a rare pair exchange: [A Betting Man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8140282/chapters/18658054)
> 
> Coming up next: Let's talk about sex, baby! Let's talk about you and me! Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be!
> 
> Soon our illustrious lovers will have a chat about feelings and what the future brings and all that responsible stuff. 
> 
> Also, who do you think Isabela was writing about? ;)


	16. Walk and Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely sfw

Excerpt page 327, _The Bartering Price_

_“How will we do it?” Her eyes were the color of a turbulent sea, shining with tears in the candlelight. “With you here and--”_

_She tugged on the leather pouch on her hip, irritated it would not come off her belt easily. Fastius soothed Tamsin with a hand, holding her neck softly. The elf stopped fussing and lifted her chin._

_“We don’t need to solve it today,” he said._

_“Fas, I can’t delay any longer. Did you see the courtyard? The leaves are falling fast. I must go before the last ship sails.”_

_“It would mean at least four more months with me.” His smile faded quickly as she bowed her head again. “But then, that’s four more months without them.”_

_Tamsin slipped out of his tenuous hold and went to her pack on the bed. It was barely filled; not that she had many belongings to carry. The alienage was no home and Tamsin could never treat it as such. She was leaving sparse shelves and empty drawers, just as she lived every day. The place was always supposed to be temporary, her time in Kirkwall short. But after that day in the market..._

_Tamsin looked around once more, despite knowing there was nothing she missed. The only possession she regretted unable to pack was the mage standing behind her, but Fastius would never be welcomed in her clan. Not that she blamed them for it either -- the pages of history were filled with too much elven blood and Tevinter glory. Her lover’s hand caught her elbow, thumb smoothing over the skin there. As much as she wanted to embrace him, feel him surge against her and fill her soul with hope, Tamsin didn’t dare it. One more kiss would lead to one more tumble, to one more choked conversation about promises, then one more day would pass. Love was a slippery slope._

_He whispered into her ear. “Ar lath ma.”_

_Tamsin closed her eyes and leaned back just a little, an infinitesimal shift all of her body’s doing. Fastius released her after a moment, then gathered her pack, sweeping it over a shoulder._

_“Let me walk you to the docks.”_

_All she could do was nod. He left first. The sight of him silhouetted in the door frame, the orange cast of the falling sun setting the edges of him aglow, was one she would never forget. Without room for further pause or regret, Tamsin blew out the candle and followed him into the light._

 

* * *

 

Despite the closeness the return march to Skyhold provided one another, it did not lend well to discussions of a private nature. Inquisition troops surrounded Cassandra and Varric and members of the inner circle leered and winked suggestively, especially Dorian and Bull, whenever given the chance. Even her best disapproving glare did nothing to keep them at bay. And so not much discussion was held during the first part of the day. Cassandra for one, did not know how to act, as if nothing had happened the night before. And that morning . . .

She blushed at the thought of Varric’s hands on her hips, gripping tightly. It was easy to picture their morning tryst, and without intending it, her mind had drifted to conjure the scene almost constantly. It had been as such all morning long, ever since leaving the confines of their lover’s cocoon in the heart of the Inquisition camp. In the midst of fighting off a bear, she had gaped at the sight of Varric’s chest. Tripping over a root, she found herself caught up against it. Each time she thought of their moments in the tent, a sudden flare of embarrassment tinged with desire sparked inside her. Varric had not remarked on the resulting cherry red stain creeping up her neckline all the other times before, but Cassandra could feel the heat. Suddenly with a hard yank, Varric pulled her off the path and into the treeline. Cassandra growled as a branch threatened to give her a black eye. 

“Varric!” 

“Come on, Cass. Even I know a quicker way back than this and Dwarves can't navigate for shit. Besides, looked like you needed a minute there.” 

She shook her head and acceded to his wisdom. For the moment. The two cut through thick trees, Varric still holding onto her wrist. After a brisk trek uphill, which he surprisingly had no complaints about, the trees started to thin out. Varric steered her towards the edge of a cliff. There was a single, grand oak on the rise, providing momentary shelter from the unusually warm autumn sun. From their position, Cassandra could see where the march of the Inquisition climbed upward, higher into the Frostbacks. The snow-covered mountains gleamed in the distance, Skyhold due slightly west of the highest peak. 

“We should not delay long.” 

“I know,” he said. “Just give me five minutes to look at you without also trying to catch my breath. You make it hard enough as it is.” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Flatterer. You stole that from one of your books.” 

“Doesn’t count if it was never published. It's still mine.”

She swayed for a moment while he rested, Bianca in his lap. Cassandra feared they’d never get back up again if she sat. Already her mind was calculating the best way to take advantage of him. The first step was moving the crossbow to the grass and demonstrating the other ways to lose one’s breath. She ran a finger between her neck and collar, loosening what felt suddenly so tight on her skin. Before that fantasy could go any further, she shook it out of her thoughts and dropped a respectable distance from her companion. 

“Varric,” she said. “If we weren’t already acquainted, I may have mistook Marris as an original character.” His eyebrow raised in synch with the corner of his mouth. “That aside, I can see why you have not published that particular story.”

“Oh?” 

“You would’ve needed to grant me at least 30 percent of the profits if that were the case.” 

“That's a bit steep, Seeker.”

“You mean Tracker?”

Varric laughed and pushed Bianca gently off his lap. Rolling towards Cassandra, he reached for a hand. She grasped it gladly and he pulled her in for a kiss. It was brief, but lovely, and set her entire body to fluttering. There was something satisfying about seeing the wrinkles pronounced at the corners of his eyes when he smiled at her. They sat in companionable silence for a minute longer, shoulder to shoulder, studying the marching troops and appreciating each cool breeze rolling by. With a burst of wings and a few fallen leaves, a hawk took flight from their shelter tree and soared over the valley below. Varric shifted slightly, likely recognizing the bird and thinking of a Hawke traveling much farther away.

“Are you worried for her?”

Varric knew who this was about. “Not exactly -- If I started, I’d never have time for anything else.” Varric leaned away to pick up his weapon and Cassandra unfolded her legs to stand again. “She told me I was being an ass to you once.”

“And did you agree with Hawke’s assessment?” Cassandra wiped the back of her legs and hauled him to his feet. “Were you an ass, Varric?” 

He holstered Bianca and raised his hands. “Hmm, I wasn’t exactly _trying_ to get you to like me. We should probably walk and talk.”

“Yes, that’s wise.”

First the pair had to pick their way down the cliff. Cassandra went first, using trees for leverage and jumping down to a small ledge or two with effortless finesse. Varric was slower, but trusted her judgements and followed her tread. It took twenty minutes to reach the valley bottom, but it was not too far off from where they’d started. After a quick discussion about the most efficient path, which Cassandra won, they headed towards a ridge in the distance that would save time in the long run, but would not be an easy climb.

“And I thought Sundermount was awful,” Varric joked. They walked side by side, making good time, better than in the cluster of marching troops. “Tell me honest though, after yesterday should you really be hiking up mountains?”

Cassandra scoffed, mostly to cover her embarrassment. “What are you trying to say, Varric?”

“Cass, you were unconscious.”

“Ah.” With a flash of annoyance at her muddied brain she realized he was referring to her ability.

“You're awfully quiet there. You didn't think I meant the sex--”

“I’m fine,” she said blithely. “I think you can see why I do not use it often." 

“Scared the piss out of me, Cass.”

While it was a fact she did not relish, part of Cassandra was pleased to hear how much Varric cared for her well being. His face was still lined with worry, furrows in his forehead making him appear much older than he was in truth.  

“I am sorry for that. There was no time to warn you for such a scene, though surely Cullen could have been more... informative.”

“Oh he took his time,” Varric admitted. “But Curly seemed shaken too. Terrible shit, red lyrium.” 

He shook his head. There was a pause, a silence that came over them as easily as conversation, and Cassandra attributed it to Varric's guilt. Despite how impervious he seemed at times, Varric had a deep, abiding sense of responsibility for all he and Hawke had inadvertently done together. It was a misplaced guilt, in her opinion, but it was a very honest part of him that  was clearly defining of his character. Cassandra smiled despite the somber shift in mood. 

“Why are you smiling now? Thinking of me I hope.” 

She turned her head to reply, but the words were soon erased by the more primal urge to fight. 

“Varric,” she hissed. “We are not alone.”

They carried on as normal, not giving sign that she’d spotted anything. Varric shifted Bianca ever so slightly, and joked more about the things Cassandra was likely thinking about since that morning. Cassandra laughed in response, though it sounded false even to hear own ears. Beyond Varric, someone was crouched, shifting agitatedly between a large boulder and tree, passing their weight from foot to foot. The sun was behind the person, casting a gruesome shadow onto the forest floor. Cassandra waited until Varric was at an advantage, then pressed his arm. He understood immediately, turning swiftly and finding his target. With the sun in her eyes, Cassandra couldn’t tell what was waiting. As she moved towards the figure, light reflected off metal. Whoever was there wore a helmet.

Her approach was not subtle, sword raised as a warning. The person stopped shifting, but dropped fully to the ground. A sudden wave of power thrust forward, like a dying man’s last desperate gasp for breath. As soon as it hit her, Cassandra knew. Varric however, had no way of telling the difference, and before she could shout to stand down, an arrow ripped past and struck the fallen Seeker’s shoulder.

“Don’t shoot!”

Cassandra whipped her shield to her back and holstered her sword while dropping to her knees. The man before her still wore the Seeker’s armor, the fiery eye in the middle of his chest covered in blood. Quickly, she felt for a pulse beneath the man’s chin. Relief flooded through her at the weak beat of his heart, and Cassandra shifted her hands to remove his helm. Varric caught up then, and squeezed her shoulder. 

“You sure you wanna do that?”

“I have to,” she insisted.

Cassandra carefully pulled the helmet free, holding the back of the prone man’s neck as to not jostle him further. His face was lined with red veins, a deep, concerning crimson that echoed the face of a man she killed for mercy not long ago. The red lyrium’s effects were not as intense as it had been for her former apprentice, but this Seeker was not so better off it seemed. Upon a second look, a name surfaced to the fore of her mind: Seeker Taubert. She did not even know his given name. 

“Varric,” she began to plead.

“I know." 

Cassandra looked over her shoulder. His face was lined with worry and guilt again, and she wished to soften it somehow. Regretfully though, they had no time for sensitivity. Turning her attention back to Taubert, she slipped her hand from his neck and let his head rest against the fallen leaves that covered the forest floor. She padded her pockets for a stray healing potion, though they were empty. It was a desperate gesture; Cassandra never saw the need for the extra weight. She quickly made a plan. They were not too far off from the main trail of the forces.

“We must--”

 “I’ll go,” Varric interrupted.  “You stay here and watch him.”

“Thank you, Varric.”

Glancing at him again was a mistake, but one she would make again anyway. For even though it pained her so, the wistful look crossing his features was the same feeling now pressing on her heart. With a knowing glance, so much was conveyed between them: regret for how the day might have been, speaking to another truthfully at last; acceptance that this was how their lives would ever be together; kinship in that no matter how they felt about each other, duty and responsibility would not be skirted for sake of their own hearts.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra sat at Seeker Taubert’s bedside, clutching her gauntlets. He’d been given a private room, at her insistence, though no one was inclined to argue; the man was full of red lyrium. It was small, close to the altar for Andraste, and eerily silent. With the door closed tightly, the goings on of Skyhold were effectively shut out. Suddenly, the hairs rose on the back of her neck.

“Hello, Cole.” 

“Tight, pulsing, so different from the weight of light. Shifting verses for a sadder song. One cannot drown out the other.” Cole leaned over the Seeker’s form, then turned to Cassandra. “You’re helping. Being here.”

“Really? I doubt that.” She flopped her gauntlets into her lap and sighed.

 “The songs are even now.” He looked at her sadly, though truthfully it was how she always pictured him. “You couldn’t save Daniel, but this is right.”

 A painful regret lanced, Cassandra buried her face in her hands. How was it that this morning she was smiling, happy and now another dying Seeker was her’s to decide what to do with? Cole didn’t remain to answer that question, and so it was just the two comrades again. Taubert’s breathing was low, but steady. The healer had not stayed long, admitting quite frankly that red lyrium was not an affliction she wished to specialize in. She had patched the shoulder wound from Varric’s bolt, cautious of all the blood for fear of exposure. Cassandra was then most logical nursemaid, having a resistance to the substance, though no one was less suited to gentle care taking than her. All she could do was strike a man dead. That, or observe and be ready to call for someone much kinder should need arise.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So don't ever listen to a pantser -- this went a direction I hadn't intended, but honestly I think it ties it neater together. We're getting close to the end, within a handful of chapters, and there had to be some resolving tension for our characters. As much as I would love to let them make love and ride off in the sunset, that's just not right. 
> 
> Thoughts? Expectations? Hoping for smut? The darn plot got in the way today.


	17. All Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can now see, there is an end to this story on the horizon. Three left after this chapter.

Dashed on a torn page from _Hard in Hightown 3: The Re-Punchening_

 _Story idea -- Gang leader is sole survivor of an ambush. Heads back to Ferelden in search of_ _~~his~~ _ _her long lost family. Gets sucked into defending village from fade rift. Joins the Inquisition. Finds redemption?_

* * *

 

If hard pressed, Cassandra couldn’t recount how long she’d been sitting in the sickened Seeker’s quarters. Judging by Varric’s considering gaze, the man could no doubt fill her in with absolute precision. For what seemed like the hundreth time, he petitioned her to abandoned the post.

“Come to bed, Cass.”

“Cole had said--”

“--I know what he said, but I don’t even think he even understands what sleeping is.”

She sighed, unable to form a coherent argument. Although Cole had said her presence was helpful, she’d be of little use to anyone else in her current state. A constant stream of jarring, jumbled thoughts flew through her mind, flashes of Varric’s embrace swimming in tandem with Daniel’s red streaked face and subsequent strike of mercy. Everything sweet became tainted, coated in a red haze. Perhaps it was time to sleep, in a proper bed.

“Alright.”

Varric wasted no time. Cassandra was dragged out of her wooden chair, lower back crying in protest. He spirited her out of the dark room, ushering her down the hall past the garden with the tight grip of a hand. The fresh  air was revitalizing, the morning chill nipping her senses and granting a sense of clarity. Several onlookers stood stock still with wide, worried eyes as the pair passed. Had it really been that long since their return to Skyhold with Seeker Taubert? Each person held the expression of someone spotting a ghost.

“Has something _happened_ , Varric?”

He swung open the door to his room, sweeping her inside before shutting it with a shoulder. Leaning against the wood, he sighed sharply.

“Just the usual. The Inquisitor jumped through a magic mirror, our resident witch’s almost frolicking through the gardens after figuring how to turn into a -- _I shit you not_ \-- dragon. And you’re guarding a ticking lyrium bomb.” He shook his head. “How we’re not dead yet I don’t understand.”

“A dragon?!” Cassandra slumped against Varric’s bedpost. Apparently a lot had happened in a short amount of time.

“Oh, and I told you this last night.” She began to protest, not remembering the discussion. “I can see your gears working there, Seeker, and I’m gonna stop you. Just get in the damn bed.”

She scoffed, but let herself be shooed from the post. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pried off her boots. They tumbled to the floor. The sound rang in her thoughts, stirring up ideas of undressing before Varric. She was not in her quarters, of course.

“Why am I here?” Cassandra threw back the covers and crawled onto the soft mattress. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she realized she didn’t much care.

“Because my bed’s somehow bigger than yours. Scoot over, I’m coming in too.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you are expecting anything, don’t.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t figured out how this works yet, Cass. When you’re worried, I’m worried. When you’re losing shut-eye. So am I.”

Her heart pattered in double time. It was such a Varric thing to say, to be wrapped up in her issues like they were his too. The thought stilled her. _Were_ they his issues now too? He’d said he loved her, they’d had _relations_ twice. She believe she loved him, or at least was fairly certain that was the feeling. It’d been so long she wasn’t sure how to declare the emotion beating against her breast.

Cassandra reclined stiffly on her allotted, imaginary side until Varric settled. The dwarf pulled her against his chest and dispelled the tension without a word. It seemed, above all else, entirely right. She breathed in the mixture of him, ink and oil with a tinge of something like the scent stirred up in the air after a hard rain. Perhaps it was so for all dwarves, unable to shake the connection to the ground despite being above it. It was pleasant, and soothing, a familiar smell for a man who had become quite familiar himself. A few deep breaths and she sank into the state before slumber where all edges became soft. Any worries could wait for later. He kissed her forehead and they soon tumbled off into much needed sleep. 

* * *

Blades had given him a day and he was damn well taking it. Luckily Cass hadn’t fought him on the sleep, too tired to think straight. She napped still, wrapped up in his blanket. It was starting to become familiar, the straight-laced Seeker all loose and unraveled within his reach. To think, a few weeks ago they’d been snapping at one another in the Rest. Life had been crazy since Hawke entered it, but this was completely unexpected. There was no use in questioning it. Varric was galloping at full tilt, willing to see how the story unfurled. Hopefully with a leggy, raven-haired Seeker at his side.

Suddenly Cass shifted and came back down from her dreams with a soft smile. Maker’s balls he wanted to kiss her until she couldn’t breath.

“Better?”

The woman’s exaggerated stretch, arms above her head and back arched like a cat’s, was answer enough. He envied the blanket wrapped around her waist, her legs. That’s where he desperately wanted to be ever since she’d let him between her thighs a few nights ago.  So far they’d been going at it fast and hot. That morning in the tent was enough to stoke his imagination for years to come, Cass bent over for his taking. Varric had to clear his throat at the conjured image, his cock waking up at the idea of trying that again. It was a lost cause though, he wasn’t going to push it after all the shit she’d been dealing with. But damn him to the void he wanted to worship her.

Cass turned to her side, one hand beneath her cheek. She studied him with a quiet certainty, lips pressed into a line as if she knew exactly how he was pieced together and could see all the fault lines.  And maybe she did know. There’d been enough confessing on his side in the last few days. It didn’t escape him for a second that she’d not professed her feelings with the same amount of fervor.

“Varric.” She practically purred.

“Yeah, Seeker?”

“Oh, are we all business?”

He laughed. It was hard to imagine that. Looking back, there hadn’t been a point where’d they acted at all like neutral parties. There’d always been an undercurrent, a spark of tension even if she’d been oblivious to it.

“Cassandra,” he amended. She scooted closer, her lips deliciously close.

“I like when you call me Cass.” She ran a hand down his shoulder, over his outreached arm. “No one calls me that.”

Everything became warm quick. Her fingers moved to his chest, tracing the line of his tunic, playing with the hair there. Legs were entwined, hips pressed achingly close. Her dark brown eyes lit up with wicked delight as she felt his arousal. He didn't move against her, rather let the Seeker do all the seducing.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to expect anything?”

“Is it not better to defy expectations? I was of the impression you specialized in such dealings.”

“Oh, I’m corrupting you aren’t I?”

She licked her lips and rolled her hips once more, and Varric was done for.

They stripped themselves efficiently, less like passionate lovers and more so seasoned soldiers. It wasn’t for lack of want, rather a blessed lack of urgency. Breeches and tunics were tossed off the bed and the blankets pulled up, shrouding them. The makeshift tent provided a sense of intimacy that a bare mattress just couldn’t do. He rolled on top, hands near her head, hips cradled between her legs, cock throbbing at the prospect of being inside her again. He continued to let her set the pace, enjoying the coiling up in the pit of his stomach that came with prolonging the slide.

Cassandra’s strong, dexterous fingers were everywhere. In his hair, on his jaw, pulling his chin towards her sultry lips. She kissed him slowly, her other hand discovering the curvature of his back, smoothing the muscles there then nails lightly scouring warm skin. All in all, it was a damn fine place to be. Her tongue skirted the seam of his mouth and he had to reward the deed, pressing heavily against her hips as he sucked on a thick, pouty lip. She practically arched off the bed once he cupped a breast, brushing a pert nipple with a thumb. The low, quick gasp against his mouth filled his chest with the sort of masculine gratification that women always rolled their eyes at with one another, but secretly thrilled for. Cass wasn’t arguing the finer points of his thirst and renewed fervor, roughened hands sinking into her hips and urging her up and open.

Being a dwarf had its disadvantages when sleeping with humans, shortness the worst of it, but not where it really mattered. He was thick everywhere, Ancestors be fucking praised for something. Her lips parted on a stuttered breath as he pushed slowly, reverently into her heat, stretching the tight grip of her body. Her stomach clenched in response to the forced intake of air, and the reaction shook him unexpectedly. She'd hooked his heart and tugged it with each small detail, the soft skin at her collarbone, the of tilt of her chin, the pulse at the base of her throat. For a moment Varric forgot her overwhelming strength and sought to keep her safe. It was infernally hot under the covers, but in no way would he expose her bare to anything. Even himself.

There was a shift somewhere along the line and they were no longer fucking, but the alternative, a dangerous combination of sweetness and sin. Maker he hadn’t had this kind of intimacy for so long and there was no dam that could keep his feelings from flooding over. Varric grabbed a strong thigh and raised it up to his side, hand lingering, stroking down to an ankle. Due to his height he had to lean over, doubling her at the waist, in order to kiss her properly. The angle was almost punishing, sending him deeper and wrenching a hiss out of her.

“That okay?”  
  
The intensity in her eyes, the line of jaw, her furrowed brows said otherwise, but as he retreated she caught him in her grasp. Like a spider with its prey, she pulled him in, dangerously close, winding and weaving a net around him. “Let me adjust.” Her thickly accented voice was magnetic, especially at a whisper, and everything about her drew him deeper. Varric rested his forehead against the beautiful creature’s beneath him. Her soft, panted breaths accompanied the barest of nods and his gut clenched with another tug of his heart as she inadvertently tied him into knots.

He couldn’t stop himself.

“I really do love you, Cass.”

In a move that was probably cruel, he took the opportunity to pull out almost entirely. Her eyelids fluttered as he rested at the precipice and he thought of a thousand sonnets. Thrusting back in with an exaggerated slowness, he came up with a thousand more. This woman was all the inspiration he’d ever need. He continued to drive in and out of her with an unfair amount of finesse, an unspoken question lingering between them.

 _But do you love me?_ He said something else entirely. 

“What do you need? Tell me.” Varric tried to lean back, let her unfurl, but she shook her head.

“Stay close.” She quirked her upper lip before adding, “You won’t break me.”

He wedged another leg against his chest, calf resting in the crook of his arm. She gripped his shoulders, tipping back her head after a few deep seated thrusts. Her exposed throat beckoned, and he sucked and soothed the sensitive skin there. A shiver ran through her as he murmured praise against her neck. The tight, wet grip of her was intoxicating. His blood pumped with incredible desire, an urgent need to see her come and spend himself there.  

Varric dropped her leg in order to cup a heavy breast, pink tip straining for his touch. Bowing as if in prayer, or more like making amends, he sucked and teased until she forced him back to her mouth. Begging to be kissed, he obeyed, then pulled out of her swiftly, seating himself just as quick. A groan ripped through them both at the sensation, breath mingling between open mouths. A stream of pleas fell off her usually sharp and demanding tongue, each more impassioned than the last.

Her skin was slick with sweat, her ankles locked at his back and fingers in his hair. He was going to come at this rate, sweat on his brow, a rising tide in his groin. Each cry and shake and moan filled him impossibly close to the brim, and he worried about spilling over before she could. Sliding a hand between them, he found her perfectly, indecently wet. He rubbed a thumb against the little bundle of nerves there and she arched against him, breasts pressed against his chest. If there was anything better than making a beautiful woman come, Varric hadn’t found it yet.

The tide rose and crashed over them both. She pulled on his wrist between them as the sensation became too much, wrapping their fingers together instead. Their joined hands were pushed above her head and he chased the last few ripples of pleasure before they disappeared. And so -- it was the best sex he'd ever had.

“Fuck,” he sighed, pulling out reluctantly. “That was incredible.”

She didn't appear to hear him. Cassandra drew the back of his broad hand to her lips and kissed there, a promise. She murmured his name against calloused knuckles and stared at a darkening corner of the room. “I do,” she said, unfocused eyes blinking at nothing. “That is yes. I-- do care for you.” It was forced, hard, and came across as if she was trying to make him feel better.

“That sounds pretty convincing.”

He scratched at his shoulder for the lack of a better distraction. She sure as shit didn't seem enthusiastic about the concept of caring for him. Then Cassandra pierced his thick, stubborn chest with sudden focus, brown eyes glistening and lip quavering in frustration. The slight movement could have been a figment of his imagination; he didn't think it was possible for her to cry. Was that awful to believe or a compliment? Before he could pull his head out of his ass, she sat up, scooting him off her lap.

“I may not be as silver tongued as you, but that does not make it any less real.”

He was an idiot. The only person she really loved had been killed in front of her when she was just a child. The only man she’d been intimate with died in a fucking explosion and directly thereafter she'd been saddled with a smart ass dwarf who apparently knew nothing. Of course she had problems saying it. Maferath’s balls he was a prick at times.

“I'm sorry.” He offered her a small smile. “Cass, I’m a terrible man. Ah, shit, don't cry.”

“I'm not,” she hissed, batting away his hand.

“Fine, don’t water the bed.”

She scoffed, but relaxed a little, shoulders softening. “It's not easy for me to tell you I love you, Varric. I have been alone for so long. Now with our responsibilities here coming to an end, it seems I must decide what is next.”

The unspoken words there were unpleasant at best. Did she move on without him? Was this just an ill-fated romance? Would she have been better off coming across a locked trunk all those months ago, his drafts and innermost thoughts hidden to her forever? He swallowed down a hard lump in his throat. He was better off for it, no matter the long-term effects. Cassandra fiddled with the sheet, pulling it taut between fingers, letting it fall loose. Varric stilled her hands before she frayed the damn thing.

“I wish to rebuild the Seekers.”

“I know that.”

“And you will return to Kirkwall.”

Varric simply nodded. He could see the writing on the wall. This was not the type of conversation he wished to have. Ever. He was the master of compartmentalizing -- of pushing the personal shit aside for as long as possible, hoping if he could downplay it in front of everyone else then maybe he’d believe it himself. The Seeker was the opposite -- a force of nature that had problems and dealt with them, sword first. Neither continued, sitting in silence for the moment, each contemplating what the future held in their mind.

“We have a bit of time,” she sighed. “Unfortunately Corypheus still lives.”

“Yeah, never thought I’d wish for his health.” She shook her head, but smiled anyway. “We’re not being irresponsible if we talk about this later, Cass. There’s still a world to save.”

Thankfully before she could press the issue, her stomach growled from neglect. Cassandra frowned as if to scare her hunger away, and Varric wanted to kiss her for it.

She groaned. “I have never said this before, but I would give anything to stay in bed.”

“And as much as I’d like to lie here and feed you, people need to see you’re still sane," he said. "Not a raving lunatic with red eyes frothing at the mouth.”

“ _Ugh.”_

Cass rolled to her feet, gathering up her clothing and staring at them as if they were Dorian’s and had not a clue as how to start. He felt the same way, head in a fog. His thoughts were a mess, his heart was a mess. It seemed Cassandra knew just how to unsettle his relative state of calm. Varric felt like a love-sick kid again. And that was when mistakes got made.

They didn’t have time for mistakes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses. I lost some mojo. I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter, and it still had the most rewrites of any I've written. However, this is supposed to be fun and I want to finish this story! You all deserve a conclusion for your kind words! 
> 
> Hopefully the smut was satisfactory. This is where all my problems came from. Apparently I don't know how to write anything remotely touching, ha.


	18. Rock Steady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the phoenix I have risen from the ashes of my failed fics and written another chapter of my favorite. 
> 
> Please enjoy this offering. I do it for you and your amazing comments, kudos. Thank you so much. Sincerely.

Jotted on the back of voided ledger paper,

Seems to be a bar tab for Fenris

 

 _His pale hand shot out of the dark like a demon from the void. Glenta grasped it firmly. The rain slicked streets were a dangerous place to be and there was no room for delaying over a matter of price. If Viitor wanted to hand her a weapon like the gem for only twice its usual price, then she’d absolutely let him walk away not knowing how much she’d been prepared to give._  
  
Fool doesn’t know what he has in back pocket _, she thought._  
  
_Doing deals with people like Viitor always left her feeling a bit victorious. They never knew the true value of their black market goods. As long as humans stuck around, the Carta’s coffers would never run dry._

* * *

   
The witch had turned into a dragon, leaving them in the Valley of Sacred Ashes with a great rush of wind from her giant wings. Cassandra turned away from the swirling soot, holding her shield to guard her face. After the winds died down, Varric grumbled at her side, complaining that Morrigan could have taken off from higher ground. He spat gravel at his feet.

“It serves you right for running your mouth so often, Varric.”

He tried to make a retort, but Evelyn cleared her throat from ahead on the trail. Solas simply raised a critical brow.The Inquisitor swirled her blades at her sides, shoulders tensing up before rolling them loose, head swiveling side-to-side. She danced on the tips of her toes, rocking back to the balls of her feet, shaking out all the nerves.

“Let’s make him suffer,” Evelyn said at last, done with her ritual. She looked back to her party, lip curling and eyes filled with energy. “Are you with me? We started this, and now it ends.”

“You lead, we’ll follow, Blades.” Varric hoisted Bianca up in front of his chest. “Though this time let's be sure he’s really fucking dead.”

They took off for the crumbling pile of stones that was once the Temple of Sacred Ashes. High above a dragon shrieked. Cassandra looked up. The two beasts fought as they fled higher and higher into the sky, reaching for the newly reformed breach. While Morrigan was a prickly, difficult woman, she was no coward. Dragons were not for the faint of heart. Cassandra smirked at up at the scaly, clawed form of a witch, sending a quick prayer to Andraste that they make it through this fight.

_Give us but half your courage and strength, in your name we see the light._

 

* * *

 

This shit was exhausting. Climb up a flight of stairs, fight. Climb down a flight of stairs, stain your breeches from sheer terror. Corypheus gave them a hard time, sending out arcs of red lyrium rain each time Cass got in close enough to land a blow, but damn if the dragon wasn’t worse. Each flap of its wings pulled Varric into the strike zone, hot breath making the hair on his chest curl up tight.

He jumped back, flipping for what was definitely the last fucking time. The red lyrium was getting to his head, making him dizzy and distracted. The dragon’s hide was blistered with the stuff, chunks of red rock wedged beneath its scales, fighting to grow out. Its beady red eyes tracked Blades as she darted out of its reach every time. Varric was tired and stiff, the bones in his wrist grinding together like a mortar and pestle. It would be awhile before he could write well again, certainly not for a few days. Getting old was as awful as everyone said.

Varric gritted his teeth, mumbled between his lips. “You sound like your old man.”

That was enough to get his heart pumping again. Blades whipped around the dragon like she downed a sack of lyrium, and shattered glass from her potions coated the uneven battleground. Her daggers glinted in the dusky light, flashing brightly in the gloom and doom of Corypheus’s floating palace. Chuckles hung back, somehow resisted the pull of the beast’s wings, sending massive amounts of rock hurtling down on the dragon’s head. If Varric didn’t know any better, he’d bet that Chuckles was an entirely different mage than from before. He did tricks that blood mages in Kirkwall couldn’t even fathom. That was... curious.

The one person he couldn’t watch was Cass. Somewhere along the line it became too difficult. Even though he knew she could hold her own, the swipe of a claw or a blast of lyrium towards her sent a shiver down his spine. She belonged next to him, in his bed, reading pages as soon as he finished drafting them. It was a Maker-forsaken beautiful picture, his tunic loose over her muscular form, ink on her fingertips as she smudged his lines. She would laugh and swoon, then crawl up behind him and pull him back into the bedcovers to finish the story off themselves.  

Fuck, this was why he was fighting.

Varric grabbed a bottle out of his pocket, a magical concoction he didn’t care to mess with often. It made him feel displaced, out of his head. As the dragon reared up, ready to fall on Cass, Varric yanked the cork out between his teeth and spat it towards his feet. Chugging the bitter stuff, a rush of frenetic energy filled his veins, took away all the aches and pains. Then the weird shit happened. Varric felt like he was being pulled in thirds, his body stretched out past where he could reach with his fingertips. Each time he fired a shot, it multiplied threefold. A few well-placed hits to the dragon’s legs sent it to the ground, caterwauling as it slammed down hard. The ground shook and Varric fired despite it, sure that a little earthquake couldn’t fuck up a target as broad as a dragon’s skull.

Sure enough, three arrows hit between the beast’s eyes. _Crack, crack, crack!_ It sent up a burst of red lyrium flames, desperate to singe its targets before dying. Evelyn sprinted up and climbed the damn thing’s snout, stabbing her daggers down into the weakened spot Bianca’s magically assisted bolts marked.

Cass turned around to find him, fierce face shining with battle lust. She looked like a warrior queen, crown of braided hair, smudge across her cheek and deserving of her own novel. A thundercrack ripped through the air and Corypheus shouted from his tower of rock.  Maker’s balls, if he made it through this fight he’d write a story about his perfect warrior woman and her penchant for slaughtering dragons.

“Varric!” she shouted. “Are you okay?”

He’d forgotten about the potion. He looked down to his hands, all six of them. There were three Biancas. The other versions of him blinked in and out of existence, folding back into his body.  “Fine, Seeker. Not looking forward to those damn stairs though.” She jogged over, sliding her blade in its sheath. Varric slung Bianca back over his shoulder then took one of her gauntleted hands. “Was thinking about writing you a book, actually.”

She blushed. His stomach filled up with a bubbling happiness.

“For me?” She squeezed his grip back. “I would never say no to that, Varric. Could I be on the cover?”

He chuckled. “You think it's about you too?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Dwarf, don’t pretend that any of them are not already.”

 

* * *

 

He was going to write her a book! A real book with a character named after her. Cassandra smiled as she sliced down on Corypheus, quickly dodging his blows. The ancient creature was no match for her determination; Varric had promised her the most delightful surprise.

Backed against the wall, Corypheus raised his corpse-like limbs to send out shockwaves of red lyrium light. Varric, Evelyn and Solas could not stand it and had to jump back from the sweeping arcs of lyrium. Cassandra gritted her teeth and pushed forward, bashing Corypheus with her shield and setting him off tilt. They combatted one-on-one in close quarters. Every time Evelyn neared, he sent out more lyrium. It was frustrating the Inquisitor to no end, she danced on the edge of Cassandra’s vision, face screwed up tight.

“Come on!” Evelyn shouted.

The fight had been going on for far too long. Cassandra wanted nothing more than to cut Corypheus down then find Varric and tell him she loved him. For certain this time, no hedging the words. She could distantly hear him grumbling behind her, probably complaining about the uneven ground, or the heights or really anything at all.

A darting idea snagged her thoughts. What if she used her power? It seemed Corypheus was mostly red lyrium. Could she boil it out of his blood, give Evelyn a chance at last?

She had to try.

Cassandra backed up, prompting Corypheus to boast his prowess as a god quite loudly, and shoved her shield into the rocky ground. Bending down to kneel, a tug came at her backside, sending Cassandra off balance for a brief moment.

“No. Cass. Just-- please don’t.” She looked back to find Varric, hot on her heels, a panicked look on his face. “I can’t see you go down right now.”

She frowned, he shot off another bolt, swearing as Corypheus darted to a rock ledge. Evelyn snuck up behind Corypheus, the abomination finally distracted at last by Cassandra and Varric pausing in the middle of battle.

“Fear me, for I am a god amongst you!” Corypheus boomed. Evelyn slipped her dagger under his chin, fire licking up his the sides of his mangled face.

“Really? I’m the Herald of Andraste and she says fuck off you fake.” Evelyn split his neck, spurts of lyrium-infested blood gushing out before them. Corypheus stumbled off the ledge, head bowed and shaking, gathering up enough energy to burst across the platform to the pinnacle of the rock fortress.

“Of course.” Evelyn sprinted after him, jumping over a quickly forming chasm as the floating ledge where Corypheus stewed above broke away from the rest of them. “I’ll be back,” she yelled over a shoulder. “Don’t start drinking without me.”

Cassandra made to move, but was held stiff by a pair of fine dwarven arms. “Let. Me. Go.” She snarled and tried to wrench herself out of his grip, but it was useless. Varric held her solid against his chest.

“Blades has to finish this one herself, Cass.” He cleared his throat. Cassandra wondered if he was getting choked up. “Damn if she doesn’t remind me of Hawke.”

A few moments later, a crackle of green energy shot straight up, right towards the middle of the enormous rift. The swirling mass of light sparked as soon as Evelyn’s energy hit the breach, waves of magic ripping across the night sky until it sucked inwards, like a giant taking a deep breath, and then the sky stilled. Everything was silent for leagues around, heartbeats pounding in their ears the only reminder that time hadn’t stopped.

“Varric,” Cassandra said, voice steady as the rock beneath their feet. He looked up at her, eyes soft. “I love you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, did you forget about me? I had a sudden burst of energy and look what I've created: battle scenes. With a little fluff. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I love you too, Varric. In case you were wondering.


End file.
